The hum of the overhead fluorescent lights buzzed faintly in the Terrasave headquarters, their sterile glow casting long streaks of light across the polished floor. Claire Redfield sat at her desk, her hands curled around a lukewarm cup of coffee. The office was quiet this late at night, most of the staff having long since gone home, leaving only the faint whir of computers and the muffled rustling of papers as her company.

It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

Claire’s eyes darted to the framed photo perched at the corner of her desk. It was slightly askew, showing a younger her, arms wrapped around her brother Chris. Her lips tugged into a faint smile, bittersweet and fleeting. Her hand reached out, brushing against the glass. The carefree joy in the photo felt like it belonged to someone else, someone untouched by the horrors of the undead, of betrayal, of loss.

What would that version of me think of this one? she wondered, her thumb brushing the edge of the frame.

Her office was decorated simply: a desk littered with files and reports, a few pinned photos of Terrasave outreach projects, and a tattered leather jacket draped over the back of her chair. Her badge rested on the desk beside her coffee, its embossed letters catching the light.

The emblem of Terrasave, the humanitarian organization she’d joined years ago, represented hope for the victims of bioterrorism—hope she clung to even when it felt like the world kept unraveling. After Raccoon City, hope had become a currency more precious than anything else, but tonight, it felt in short supply.

The knock at her door was sharp, dragging Claire out of her thoughts.