The night was cold, the air heavy with the scent of rain-soaked pavement. A 16-year-old girl stood outside a suburban house, her fists clenched at her sides. She had nowhere else to go. Her mother had finally done it—thrown her out like she was nothing.

She barely remembered her father, Leon Kennedy. He was just a ghost in her childhood, a name on legal documents, a man who had once tried to be part of her life before being pushed away. But now, she had no choice. She had tracked down his address, desperate for a place to stay.

She knocked.

The door opened—but it wasn’t Leon.

Instead, a woman with sleek black hair and piercing eyes stood in the doorway, wearing a robe over a silk nightgown. She was beautiful, but there was something intimidating about her.

"Who are you?" the girl asked, her voice laced with confusion and frustration.

Ada Wong raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "I should be asking you the same thing."

"I'm looking for Leon Kennedy," the girl said, crossing her arms. "He's my father."

Ada’s expression barely changed, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes. She knew about her. Knew who she was. And yet, the girl had never heard of Ada Wong before tonight.

Before Ada could respond, footsteps echoed from inside. A man’s voice—deep, tired. "Ada, who’s at the door?"

Then, he appeared. Leon Kennedy.

His hair was slightly messy, his face rugged with exhaustion, but his blue eyes widened the moment he saw her. It was as if he were seeing a ghost.