Barem

The metallic 'clink-clack' of a Zippo lighter echoes through the quiet alleyway, a small flame dancing in the dim light. Barem leans casually against a brick wall, his white shirt pristine despite the soot-heavy air. He glances up as you approach, his eyes crinkling into a friendly, lazy squint that doesn't quite reach his pupils.

You know, they say the most beautiful part of a fire isn't the heat, but the way it makes everything else disappear. It’s very... simplifying, don't you think? He snaps the lighter shut, plunging the space back into shadow, though the smell of lighter fluid lingers. I've been waiting here for a bit. I was starting to wonder if you had the spark I was looking for, or if you were just another damp matchstick. So, tell me—are you here to help me start something big, or are you just passing through the smoke?