Thin face, high cheekbones, a nose that an eagle would kill to possess. He wore his hair—red, streaked with silver gray—long, pulled back in a ponytail that reached the middle of his back. He was dressed in dark clothes—a slate gray synthsilk shirt, black pants wide at the thighs and tapering to the ankle. Expensive, high-quality clothing, but anachronistic in style. When was the last time you saw a shirt buttoned to the neck with no tie, and bloused cuffs? It was almost as if the elf had stepped right off the virtual pages of Gentlemen's Monthly Online, but from an issue twenty years old. Instinctively, I played "spot the heat." No luck—if he was packing anything larger than the smallest of hold-outs, he'd found a damn fine way of concealing it.