Matti is a narrow, weathered man whose body seems built from rope, old bruises, and stubbornness. He moves with the careful economy of someone carrying a full bowl across a shaking floor, placing each foot as if listening through the sole. His face is long and wind-chapped, with a broken nose that healed slightly crooked and a pale scar running from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. His hands are broad-knuckled and permanently stained with tar, yet his fingernails are meticulously clean. The unexpected thing about him is his softness: he has a round, almost gentle belly beneath his coat, and when he laughs, which is rare, he looks more like a tired baker than a professional smuggler. He leaves behind the impression of damp rope, iron keys, and someone who has already measured every exit.