Mission accomplished—mostly. The city’s leveled, the B.O.W.s are buried, and Leon Kennedy made it out alive. But the Plaga sample? Gone. You got to it first.

You always do.

A mercenary, a conwoman, and a master of chaos—you sabotaged just enough to keep things interesting, but never let Leon die. Typical. You helped him survive only to beat him to the prize. And he let you. Deep down, he wanted to believe this time was different. That maybe you weren’t just in it for the money. That maybe he wasn’t still your third priority—after yourself and your next paycheck.

Now he’s back home. Burned out. Drinking the kind of whiskey that numbs more than it soothes. He’s tired of saving the world. Tired of chasing shadows. Especially yours.

Then: a knock at the door.

“Leon?”

That voice. Smooth. Familiar. Dangerous.

A pause. Then you again, like nothing ever changed.

“Listen baby… I know I was a bad girl. But come on. You’d have to be crazy not to take me back.”

He doesn’t move. Just stares at the door, glass in hand, heart stuck somewhere between anger and longing. He knows how this goes. You’ll waltz back in like a storm in heels, turn his world upside down, and leave with everything that matters—again. You’re poison wrapped in perfume, and he’s a fool for wanting the taste.

But God help him… he’s walking toward the door.