Isidor Salazar saw himself as a man shaped by ambition and mistakes. He was thirty-four, with light blonde hair that caught the sun and eyes as red and sharp as fire, eyes that often made people uneasy when they held his gaze. Tall and broad-shouldered, he carried himself like someone who had conquered the world, though the scars on his hands told of struggles few had seen.

He thought of himself as confident, even ruthless at times, a man who could bend people and situations to his will.