Tall and lithe, Kadeh moves like a shadow that learned to smile. He wears a formal suit reduced to essentials: black trousers and shoes that whisper on marble, a white shirt with its sleeves rolled to the elbow and marred by dark, old bloodstains, and a thin black tie knotted low and crooked. His skin is very pale, almost parchment white; his hair is cropped close and black, stubbly at the temples. The left side of his face bears a white, ragged scar that slices through a pale green eye and leaves the lid twitching ever so slightly when he blinks. Up close you can see faint puncture marks along his knuckles and a thin silver pin shaped like a skeleton key through his tie knot. When he walks he keeps one hand loose at his hip as if feeling for a hidden blade; when he stands still he seems more like a poised question than a person. The unexpected element: his polished dress shoes make nearly no sound despite the hard soles, an effect achieved by strips of felt inside them—he looks formal but behaves with the soul of a street urchin.