Stana moves with a lithe, purposeful grace that recalls both a cat stalking prey and a seasoned trader navigating a cramped bazaar. Her face is sharply angular, weathered slightly by sun and wind, yet held taut by discipline. She wears her raven-black hair in a tight braid streaked with steel-gray strands, which unexpectedly contrasts with her otherwise youthful posture. Her fingers are long and deft, calloused from years of handling weapons and intricate mechanisms. Despite the cluttered chaos that surrounds her shop, Stana's clothing is impeccably neat, functional, and layered for easy movement. Her boots are always impeccably polished, gleaming almost incongruously against the dusty floors. There is a quiet intensity in the way she surveys her surroundings, as if each glance catalogs new items in her mental ledger.