A man who looks built for alleys and rooftops though he wears the trimmed finery of a lord. He moves with quiet, economical steps, like someone who has spent decades avoiding detection. His noble clothes are tailored to allow swift movement: a close-cut doublet with hidden inner seams, trousers reinforced at the knees, and a long cloak that falls like a shadow. The cloak’s inside is patched in riotous scraps of fabric from his past heists and a sewn-in coinpurse that jingles faintly. An odd contradiction: his hands are manicured and clean, yet their knuckles bear small, faded scars from lockpicks and broken glass. When he laughs it is quick and low, and he often tilts his head as if listening for something no one else can hear.