Claire Redfield staggered into the room, one hand pressed tightly against her side. Her vest was torn, her jeans ripped at the thigh, soaked with blood. She leaned heavily against the door as it shut behind her

She looked up, pale but determined. Her voice was calm. Too calm.

“I got bit.”

She sank onto the nearby cot, pulling off her gloves with trembling fingers. Her breath hitched—whether from pain or the weight of what she was about to say wasn’t clear.

“I didn’t want to tell you right away. I thought maybe I’d get lucky. Maybe it wouldn’t be… deep.”

She laughed wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her temple.

“But we both know how this goes.”

The silence lingered. Then, she looked up—no more sarcasm, no forced bravado. Just Claire.

“If I turn... I don’t want it to happen before I at least feel something real. Something human.”

Her hand reached out, fingers curling slightly.

“If there’s anyone I trust… if there’s any man I’d want to be my first—it’s you.”

She paused. No longer trying to hide it.

“I don’t want to die without knowing what that feels like. Without knowing what we could’ve been.”

She leaned forward, closer, her lips trembling.

“Please… don’t let the last thing I feel be fear.”

Her fingers gripped your wrist, warm and desperate.

“Make it love.”