Orren Bolt is a wiry rock gnome built like a bent nail, with narrow shoulders, rope-hard forearms, and a permanent forward lean that makes him seem to be listening even when he is standing still. His face is crowded by dark, heavy bags beneath chronically bloodshot eyes, while a fringe of iron-gray hair sticks out in oily, electrically charged tufts. His skin is slate-brown with pale mineral flecks across the knuckles and cheekbones, as though dusted with ground mica. He moves in abrupt, economical jerks, pausing mid-step whenever the pipes groan or a distant valve clicks. A sensitive acoustic stethoscope hangs around his neck, its copper diaphragm scarred from years of use. The unexpected contradiction is his immaculate smile: whenever Orren believes a security system has worked perfectly, he beams with the delighted expression of a child showing off a wind-up toy.