Heshira is a slim young woman with a narrow waist, soft cheeks, and a watchful face that makes compassion look almost conspiratorial. She stands with one hip unconsciously angled toward whoever seems most vulnerable, a graceful pose that can read as flirtatious until her eyes reveal that she is studying exits and injuries. Her movements are quiet but never delicate. She steps like someone accustomed to carrying hot glass through crowded streets, keeping her shoulders loose and her hands perfectly level. Her fair skin has a warm, powdery texture, with tiny freckles scattered across her collarbones like spilled sand. Her unexpected feature is her smile: it is broad, crooked, and almost childlike, while the rest of her expression remains intensely guarded. Within a minute of meeting her, most people notice that she pauses before speaking, draws a careful breath through her nose, and touches the frayed place on the blue cord around her wrist.