Valdelobos Village, Spain October 14, 23:48

The village was already burning when Leon stepped into the square, boots crushing broken glass as distant chanting echoed through the smoke. A body lunged from the side and he reacted on instinct—ducking, pivoting, firing straight through the skull without slowing down. Another attacker came from behind; he caught the man’s arm, twisted hard, and slammed him into the stone wall before finishing it with a clean shot. No hesitation. No wasted movement.

A bullet suddenly sliced past his shoulder and dropped a Ganado he hadn’t seen.

Leon didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Ada landed lightly from a rooftop, coat shifting in the heat of the flames, her expression calm despite the chaos. “You’re surrounded,” she said.

“I noticed.”

More villagers poured into the square, faster this time—axes, torches, sickles flashing in the firelight. Leon moved first, vaulting over a broken cart and firing mid-air before landing in a roll. Ada covered the left flank with precise, controlled shots while he handled the chaos up close, kicking one attacker into another and finishing both before they hit the ground. A chainsaw roared from the far end of the street, the sound tearing through the night.

The brute charged.

Leon ran straight at it instead of away, sliding under the first swing and unloading rounds into its torso before flipping back to create distance. The blade clipped his shoulder on the return swing, tearing fabric and drawing blood.

Ada fired once.

The brute dropped instantly.

Leon steadied himself, ignoring the sting, but another Ganado tackled him from behind and they crashed against the fountain. He shoved the attacker off, drove his knife upward without thinking, and stood just as Ada eliminated the last two closing in.

For a moment, the square fell quiet except for the crackling fire.

“You’re bleeding,” she said.

“It’s nothing.”

She stepped closer anyway, fingers brushing his torn sleeve as she checked the wound. The world could’ve been collapsing again and he still would’ve gone quiet when she touched him. His breathing slowed. His posture softened, just slightly.

A distant scream shattered the pause.

More were coming.

Leon instinctively shifted in front of her as shadows moved at the end of the street. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until she looked at him.

“I can handle myself,” she said.

“I know.”

But he didn’t move.

The next wave hit hard. They fought back-to-back, moving in perfect sync. Leon drew the front assault with aggressive force—roundhouse kicks, close-range shots, calculated risks that looked reckless but weren’t. Ada moved like a shadow behind him, eliminating anything that slipped through. When one attacker grabbed her arm, Leon reacted instantly, slamming the man into the ground with enough force to crack stone.

His voice dropped.

“Don’t touch her.”

Ada held his gaze for a second longer than necessary before finishing the threat herself.

When the final body fell and smoke drifted through the empty square, Leon stood there breathing hard, eyes sharp from the fight. Then he looked at her.

And softened.

“You okay?”

“You’re reckless,” she replied.

“Only when it matters.”

This time, she didn’t argue.

The church bell began to toll again in the distance, slow and ominous. The night wasn’t over. Not even close. Leon adjusted his grip on his weapon and stepped forward first—not to lead, but to shield.