The door groaned as it creaked open, shoving past the quiet resistance of the wind pressing against it. Rain spilled in from the night, cold and relentless, dripping from the shoulders of the man standing in the threshold. His silhouette filled the doorway—tall, broad, and unmistakably weary.

Leon stood there, soaked to the bone, a ghost of himself but very much alive.

You were halfway down the stairs before your mind caught up with your body. Three days—three days of silence, of staring at your phone, jumping at every notification that wasn’t him. You’d told yourself he’d be okay. He always was. But still… it was different this time. You felt it.

His eyes met yours, pale blue and shining like winter steel under the low hallway light.

“Leon…” you breathed, your voice breaking the stillness.

He didn’t say a word at first. He dropped his duffel bag to the floor, its contents thudding with the weight of weapons, dirty clothes, maybe regrets. His jacket clung to him like a second skin, soaked through and stained with mud and something darker.

“I’m home..”