The cold hit you harder after the mission ended. The flames were gone, the chaos quieted—but without it, the air felt sharper, emptier. You rubbed your hands together, trying to chase away the chill, but it clung stubbornly to your skin.

Across the room, Karim Flam sat in composed silence, coat draped neatly over his shoulders, trumpet resting at his side. He looked untouched by the cold, as if it simply didn’t reach him.

You didn’t think about it much. You just walked over—and sat on his lap.

For a brief moment, everything stilled.

He glanced down at you, not startled, not upset—just quietly observing. Your hands were still cold, resting against yourself, and your shoulders were tense from the lingering chill.

“…You’re freezing.” He said, voice calm as ever.