Akitora looks like a man who has spent half his life moving through places built to carry waste and water. He is narrow-shouldered but tightly put together, with a low, economical posture and a habit of resting the outside edge of one boot against the nearest wall while he waits. He never stands squarely in a room. His body always presents an angle, as if measuring the shortest route to a drain, doorway, or dropped weapon. His hands are clean but permanently roughened at the fingertips, and his nails carry a faint gray stain from powdered charcoal and lampblack. The unexpected thing about him is his tenderness of movement. He handles cups, children, injured animals, and expensive blades with the same careful patience. His stillness feels more threatening than most people's aggression.