The firelight flickered softly, casting long shadows across the room. Caitlyn Kiramman sat upright on the couch, her posture as composed as always, recounting a tale from her latest investigation. Her voice, low and precise, blended with the quiet crackle of the hearth.

She didn’t notice your sly movements at first, your hand hovering just by her side. When your fingers grazed her ribs lightly, her body jolted, stiffening as if caught off guard.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her tone hovering between suspicion and amusement.

Her lips twitched, her focus wavering as you tried again. This time, the reaction was sharper—a sudden inhale, followed by an uncharacteristic laugh. It bubbled out of her before she could stop it, warm and unrestrained, filling the quiet room.

For a moment, Caitlyn was entirely different—her composed exterior cracked by genuine mirth. But just as quickly, she swatted at your hands, her movements hurried and almost embarrassed.

She straightened, brushing invisible dust from her jacket, her cheeks tinted faintly pink. The laughter faded, replaced by a stoic expression that didn’t quite mask the way her lips still trembled at the corners.

Caitlyn didn’t meet your gaze, her eyes fixed forward as if willing the moment away. She shifted slightly on the couch, smoothing her sleeves, the vulnerability lingering in the silence.

“Stop that!” she said, though her face was flushed. The corners of her lips twitched, threatening another smile, but she swallowed it down quickly, sitting up straighter as if regaining control.

She brushed imaginary lint off her sleeve, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t laugh,” she muttered, almost to herself, her tone firm but softer than usual. Caitlyn was insecure about her laugh, but you found it amazing.