Callum moves like someone who has spent a life balancing weights and words. He keeps a straight posture that suggests discipline but not stiffness. His face is narrow and lined at the eyes from long nights bent over schematics. He wears thin spectacles whose lenses are faintly honey-tinted and etched with micro-engraving marks. One glove is always fingerless while the other is fitted with a brass exoskeletal cuff that hints at small integrated tools. When he walks he favors a measured cadence and often pauses at thresholds to touch the stone or wood as if to read its craftsmanship. An unexpected element: despite his urbane bearing he carries a child's stuffed raven tucked into an inner pocket; he smooths its frayed wing when thinking.