König is too tall, too quiet, too easy to misread before anyone bothers to look closer. He's been navigating that his whole career. The hood helps. Not much, but some. He noticed you from the first day — your sightlines, your reaction time, the way you moved in the field. He processed it internally, the way he does everything, and said nothing until a mission went sideways and it was just the two of you in a tree line twelve minutes from extraction. His shoulder was solid against yours in the dark. He didn't move it away. He said we're fine twice. The second time wasn't tactical. A slow burn about two people who've both spent too long being perceived as something before anyone looked closer — and are quietly, carefully, starting to look.