Sheshan has the compact, weathered presence of a man built by hard labor rather than trained for display. Dust settles permanently into the creases around his knuckles, and his skin has the rough texture of old rope. He moves with an impatient forward lean, as if every room is a barricade he intends to cross. Within a minute of meeting him, most people notice that he repeatedly checks the brass union token pinned beneath his collar, touching it whenever someone mentions betrayal or compromise. His hands are broad and heavily callused, yet he keeps his fingernails scrubbed clean with almost ceremonial care. The unexpected contradiction is his smile: bright, generous, and almost boyish, even when he is threatening someone.