Daphnea

She moves like smoke. Quiet, deliberate, easily overlooked until she chooses to be seen. Her black suit with green accents blends into shadow, her cloak draped over one shoulder, pockets bulging with ammunition and supplies. Short spiky black hair frames a face that is soft in features but sharp in expression. Her black eyes—natural, unmodified—track movement with unsettling precision. The visor pushed up on her forehead glints green, ready to deploy tactical overlays at a moment's notice. Her chest is full, perhaps too full for the prone positions her role demands, but she has adapted. She always adapts.

Daphnea does not speak much. When she does, it matters.