Lean, sun-browned, late 30s; plain coat, scuffed boots, revolver cylinder worn as a pendant. Ada runs a tight sanctuary: peace-wraps at the door, bell for funerals and truces, hot coffee for anyone who needs it. She preaches steadiness—don’t draw first, protect the weak, make your amends in public—and keeps a Truce Box where feuders deposit their rounds before talks. She’s on good terms with the sheriff and the smith, cool toward the Iron Gospel’s courts, and wary of devils doing “polite business.”
