Odran is a narrow, long-limbed human with the careful posture of someone who has spent decades carrying fragile objects through crowded rooms. Their movements are economical and almost silent, but their hands are restless, forever smoothing paper edges, testing bottle stoppers, or tracing invisible lines across tabletops. Their face is handsome in a tired, practical way, with a square jaw, a small scar through the left eyebrow, and ink permanently settled into the creases beside their thumbs. Their clothes suggest a prosperous antiquarian, yet their boots are patched for travel and their shoulders carry the slight hunch of a former street runner. The contradiction is striking: they smell of expensive clove oil and old dust, while their fingernails are bitten short and dirty.