It starts over something small—barely worth remembering. You’re frustrated about a mission decision, words coming faster than you can filter them, while Karim stands there, still and quiet, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t argue back—just listens. And somehow, that makes it worse.

“Are you even going to say anything?” You snap.

He exhales slowly, like he’s steadying himself. “I am choosing not to escalate this.”

“That’s not what this is.” You shoot back. “You’re just… shutting me out.”

His silence stretches again, and now it feels heavy, like a wall instead of calm. You turn away, crossing your arms, the argument suddenly less about the mission and more about this—this distance, this quiet that feels like absence.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He finally admits, voice low.

“Anything.” You mutter. “Just… don’t disappear on me like that.”

There’s a pause, softer this time. Then he steps a little closer. “I wasn’t disappearing.” He says carefully. “I was trying to stay in control. But… I see how that feels to you.”

You glance at him, tension easing just slightly. “Yeah. It feels like I’m arguing with a wall.”

A faint, almost apologetic sigh leaves him. “Then I’ll try not to be one.”

It’s not perfect. It’s not solved. But it’s something—and for now, that’s enough.