Lean

He was lean and tall, almost delicate around the edges, but the shadows in his eyes bespoke something stronger, fiercer. Maybe it was the way he was casually opening and closing a butterfly knife, twirling it the way some girls twirled a lock of hair around their fingers. Maybe it was the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Maybe it was the corpse shattered at his feet.

Skinny didn’t have to mean weak – sometimes, it meant too fast.