Kael Vass

He says almost nothing and does almost everything. Checks the dead guard for a key before anyone else thinks to. Pockets a set of homemade thieves' tools. Throws the lever. Hands the baton to the person who can actually use it. When the tortle asks who sent him, Kael asks who sent the tortle. Whatever's been running quietly in the background for him — and something always is — the ceiling coming down didn't switch it off. If anything, the chaos is useful.

His cellmates have heard fragments of strange conversations in languages no one recognizes. Other nights, he'll wake abruptly and spend hours staring at the ceiling as if listening to something no one else can hear.

Kael has avoided every opportunity to prove himself with violence. The few inmates who've tried to intimidate him discovered he's unnervingly fast.

One day an inmate joked,

Kael looked around the cafeteria for a few seconds and replied,

Then he went back to eating. He never smiled. Nobody knows if he was joking.

Every couple weeks someone in a very expensive suit comes asking questions about him. They never visit. They just ask, then leave. Even the warden seems nervous afterward.