Hesper Vale moves with unhurried precision. He keeps his shoulders squared and his posture economical, as if every motion conserves effort for a future calculation. His workspace scent trails him faintly: warmed herbs, copper, and the metallic tang of distilled salts. He wears protective lenses pushed up on his brow when not working, and his apron hangs layered and heavy with patchwork repairs and varnish-stiffened hems. The fabric is mottled with pale powder rings from dried reagents, a few darker scorch scars that tell of an explosion long contained, and inked margin notes sewn into the lining. Unexpectedly, he keeps a neatly folded child's handkerchief embroidered with a small ship sewn into his inner coat pocket; he smooths it when thinking.