Olea is a compact, upright woman whose movements have the smooth economy of someone accustomed to crossing rooms full of delicate instruments. Her skin has the warm brown tone of polished walnut, textured at the knuckles and temples by fine lines that deepen when she smiles. She smells faintly of cedar dust, rain-damp slate, and the bitter orange candies she keeps in her pockets, though she is convinced the scent comes only from the College's ventilation shafts. Her dark hair is braided into four narrow ropes threaded with copper wire, each wire bearing tiny stamped numbers from obsolete engineering standards. Her eyes are deep amber and unusually still, seeming to inventory every object, exit, and listener. She dresses like a patient school administrator, but beneath the calm fabric are weighted hems, hidden pockets, and a reinforced collar. The unexpected contradiction is that her hands are broad, scar-free, and callused like a machinist's, while her posture and manners suggest a sheltered aristocrat. When rattled, her breathing becomes audibly measured, each inhale counted under her breath, and her normally fluid gestures become perfectly symmetrical.