No one would ever call him handsome, not really. He wasn’t overly tall, nor lean by nature. His shoulders were wide and his frame meant for more weight than he had—too few regular meals and long addiction had robbed him of fat. At some point, his nose had been broken and something had left a scar slashing his right eyebrow—a thin slice of pale skin. He was too pale to be fair, with a shock of yellow hair and no real color to his cheeks. His eyes were dark though, brown and shadowed, deep set and never still. He watched the world with the wariness of a starving lion. When he was still, when he was focused, his stare was unnerving, a predator waiting for the prey to run.