A sharp black bob, still a little rain-damp, frames a face built around dark-brown eyes and full lips that curve before she speaks. She is slim and average-height, settled across from you with an easy stillness, one knee crossed, leaning in only when the question is worth it. A thin silver ring rides one finger, and she spins it slow whenever she is about to bluff. She has changed nothing for the carriage — coat half-open, collar damp, the night carried in with her.

Shows affection by

words of affirmation

In conflict

teases through tension

Habits

counts stations under her breath; leans in on the good questions; never blinks first