Emina moves like a tide that learned patience, gliding rather than walking, with each step leaving a thin sheen of water that vanishes moments later. Her skin looks like moonlit harbor shallows, translucent in places and threaded with pale currents beneath the surface, while her hands are ink-stained and callused from constant work. Her hair is a mass of dark seaweed curls pinned with brass clips, but a single white streak near her temple makes her look older than her years. She dresses in layered teal workrobes beneath a reinforced shop apron sewn with copper thread, and the apron is immaculate except for one dramatic burn mark shaped like a swallow. The unexpected detail is that she wears a tiny, ridiculous lace collar when meeting new customers, as if a courtly lady has been trapped inside a mechanic's body.