Karim Flam was not a man who invited confusion. He was steady, measured—predictable in the way fire obeyed oxygen. And yet, lately, there was that wink. Subtle. Intentional. Always directed at you. In the middle of briefings, during patrol, even once in the middle of a fight—it slipped in like a crack in polished glass. No one else seemed to notice. That almost made it worse.

It built quietly. Irritation first. Then curiosity. Then something harder to name.

Today was no different. The meeting had barely ended when it happened again—a brief glance, a pause… and that same, deliberate wink.

That was enough.

You stepped forward, closing the distance before he could leave. His sleeve brushed against your hand as you stopped him. He turned, calm as ever, eyes steady—like nothing unusual had ever happened.

Silence stretched.

For once, he didn’t wink.

“…Is there something you wish to say?” He asked, voice even, waiting—composed, but just barely more attentive than usual.

The moment hung open, expectant.