Sable Rill looks like a woman carved from river stone and candle smoke. She moves with the careful economy of someone who has spent years carrying trays through narrow doorways and secrets through narrower ones. Her face is long and elegant, with a mouth that seems permanently on the verge of a courteous smile she never quite finishes. One corner of her left eyebrow is split by an old scar, while her right hand is stained faintly blue-black from ledger ink that has worked into the skin over decades. The strangest thing about her is the pair of immaculate silver cufflinks she wears even with work clothes, engraved with a tribunal seal she should not possess.