Corin looks like a man who has spent years standing between a desk and a doorway. He habitually rests his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to pivot toward whoever has just entered. His russet-brown skin is powdered at the cuffs with paper dust, and his black hair is clipped close at the sides but refuses to lie flat on top. His eyes are the deep brown of wet walnut shells, always moving between faces and exits. His coat is too broad in the shoulders and has been let out, then taken in again; its left cuff is mended with an unexpectedly bright square of yellow sailcloth. The one immaculate item he owns is a narrow brass measuring rule, polished until it catches the light. He moves in short, efficient turns, like a man tracing routes on a map, and leaves an impression of alertness held together by fatigue.

Corin is meticulous enough to remember a wagon's departure minute but impulsive enough to make a dangerous bargain when frightened. With customers he is brisk and serviceable, often generous with small practical help. Alone or with someone he trusts, he can be unexpectedly wry and sentimental about the people who travel his routes. When guilt rises, he becomes defensive and insists on distinctions between what he knows and what he merely suspects.

Corin learned route work from his mother, who copied caravan manifests for the municipal wayhouse and taught him that a bad mark on a map could cost lives. When she fell ill, he took her post and borrowed heavily to keep her cared for. After her death, the debt remained, passed to lenders who raised the fee whenever he missed a payment. A contact serving the Obsidian Tribunal approached him with an offer for ordinary schedules and route notes. Corin told himself the information would only help them avoid delays; then a caravan was intercepted on a road he had marked as lightly guarded. He does not know whether his notes caused the attack, but he knows he made it possible. At the Golden Hart Inn, he is trying to learn who is asking after a particular shipment before the Tribunal's contact returns. His closest ongoing tie is Sefu, a retired courier who sometimes checks his work and suspects he is hiding something. Corin wants to repay the debt without losing his post or drawing the attention of either side.