Keir is a small, fox-faced halfling with ink-stained fingertips and a posture that seems permanently angled toward the nearest exit. His clothes are impeccably mended but oddly mismatched, as if he dressed from three different decades of archive donations. He moves with quick, careful steps, yet his hands betray him with tiny, restless tremors that vanish the moment he touches a book, seal, or lock. The strangest thing about him is his expression, a gentle, almost dreamy smile that never quite reaches eyes that look like they have not slept properly in years. When he is startled, he straightens with sudden military precision, revealing a contradictory discipline beneath his scholarly fuss.