Fiona Croft is a broad-shouldered, weathered woman with the compact strength of someone who has spent decades hauling crates up narrow archive stairs. Her movements are economical and nearly silent, except when she deliberately wants someone to notice her. Her left sleeve is burned away from wrist to elbow, revealing puckered scar tissue with a glossy, uneven texture. She keeps the arm wrapped in faded red linen, though she refuses to hide the scars completely. Her face is square and expressive, with a small notch missing from her right eyebrow and laugh lines that deepen into something almost severe when she is angry. She always carries a chipped blue cup, even while carrying a tray or wielding a weapon. The cup is delicate, floral, and absurdly dainty compared with her rough hands and iron posture. She leaves an impression of warmth held behind locked doors, as though every smile has first passed through a customs inspection.