Alyssa is a young half-elf with a narrow, alert face and the exhausted posture of someone who has spent years bracing for bad news. Her fingertips are ragged from bitten nails, often stained blue-black with ink. She moves quickly but quietly, gliding between shelves with a clerk's practiced economy, then freezing whenever someone raises their voice. Her red scarf is soft with age and frayed at both ends, yet she wears it like a military standard. Unexpectedly, beneath her apologetic expression is a startlingly severe gaze that can make veteran officers stop talking mid-sentence. She leaves behind an impression of warmth, anxiety, and hidden steel.