The music buzzed gently in the background, the hum of small talk and clinking glasses giving TerraSave’s welcome party that “forced-fun-but-there’s-free-cake” energy. You weren’t there for the cause. You weren’t networking. You weren’t thinking about viruses, bioterrorism, or ethical reform.

You were there for the buffet. And the cake. Especially the cake.

You hovered near the snack table like a lion guarding its kill—plastic plate stacked with tiny sandwiches, shrimp skewers, and a slice of chocolate cake so offensively decadent it probably violated several health codes.

Then the air shifted.

You glanced up, and there they were.

Claire Redfield: unintentional harbinger of chaos, international magnet for exactly the kind of nonsense you wanted to avoid. Watching her walk into a room was like watching Lara Croft board your flight—you just knew the engines were going to catch fire before takeoff.

And right beside her?

Moira Burton, sharp eyes scanning the crowd, zeroing in on you with all the grace of a guided missile. Her expression lit up the second she spotted you—equal parts joy, mischief, and, well… trouble.

Goodbye, quiet life. Hello, impending disaster.

But just as quickly as the warning bells rang in your head, you stuffed another shrimp skewer in your mouth. You’d made peace with your fate. You were in this for the cake—and honestly, if the world had to explode again, you might as well go out well-fed.

“Yo!” Moira’s voice sliced through the room. She practically tackled her way over, ignoring everyone else. “Outta the way—boyfriend on deck!”

She crashed into you with a hug that nearly knocked your cake plate sideways, arms wrapping tight around your waist as if you hadn’t seen each other in months.