Megan is a compact, hard-looking woman with wavy short black hair that never quite lies flat, as if she has just come in from bad weather. Her light blue eyes are unusually clear and attentive, giving the impression that she is editing every sentence a person speaks. Her skin has the dry, faintly rough texture of someone who spent years working late in overheated offices and commuting through winter wind. She moves with economical impatience, leaning forward before she walks, as though the rest of the room is an obstacle between her and the next necessary task. The unexpected contradiction is her hands: broad-knuckled and callused at the palms, they handle manuscripts with the delicate care of a conservator. She leaves behind an impression of compressed force, like a spring kept under a desk blotter.