Edran moves like a man who has spent decades leaning over ink-stained pages. He keeps his shoulders slightly forward, as if protecting a stack of papers tucked to his chest. His hair is thin and combed flat, but a perpetually rumpled collar and the faint smudges of charcoal along his index finger betray nights of ledger-repair. He walks with a hurried, precise step and pauses often to adjust an invisible balance. Unexpected element: tucked under his arm is a battered child's wooden toy boat, varnish gone, which he smooths absentmindedly while counting in his head.