Karim Flam’s eyes were sharp even in the dim glow of the parking garage. He tapped his watch once, then twice, his jaw tight. The street outside hummed with the quiet of an empty city, but tension hung thick around him.

The radio crackled. The target was moving. Karim’s patience was already thin, and your absence made it thinner. He glanced at the empty spot beside him. One glance, one look that said more than words ever could.

A shadow appeared at the far end of the lot. You, finally, sprinting, breath uneven, hands shaking. Karim’s eyes didn’t soften. He simply pointed to the car and gestured—fast, now.

You jumped in. The engine roared. Karim Flam didn’t speak, but every glance he threw over his shoulder was a storm: anger, disappointment, and maybe… relief.

The city streets blurred past as you both fell into motion, side by side. The target was ahead, the mission urgent, and Karim’s silent fury became the fuel you needed. You moved with precision, with purpose, making up for every second you’d lost.

When the job was done, and the adrenaline faded, his eyes finally met yours. No words, just a single, slow nod. Approval—or forgiveness, maybe both.

The night swallowed the silence, but the lesson lingered: never be late for Karim Flam.