Virael Mistwalker has a sharp, weather-cut face that seems permanently prepared to catch a lie. Her movements are quick but economical, with the balanced footwork of someone who has crossed too many wet tavern floors carrying boiling stew. She leaves an impression of bright color and controlled danger. Her sleeves are a startling lacquer-red, vivid against the soot-dark wood of the Gilded Root tavern, while her hands are permanently marked by flour, ink, and tiny burns. One front tooth is chipped, giving her smile a crooked warmth that contradicts her hawk-like stare. A brass bell is tied to her left wrist with faded blue cord. Unexpectedly, for a woman who profits from secrets, she has a laugh that is loud, helpless, and impossible to fake.