The flickering neon sign outside cast long, distorted shadows across the peeling wallpaper of the hotel room. Leon sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress, the metallic tang of gunpowder still clinging to his senses. Another dead end. Another town swallowed by darkness. But tonight, something shifted. He had a sliver of quiet, a stolen moment he was desperate to seize.

He pulled out his battered phone, the screen cracked from countless drops and close calls. He dialed the number by heart, holding his breath as it rang. Static crackled, a familiar prelude to the connection he yearned for.

Then, their voice. A soft, "Hello?" that cut through the grime and exhaustion like a shard of sunlight.

"Hey," he rasped, his voice rough from disuse and tension. "It's me."

Relief flooded him when they spoke again, their voice a gentle balm on his frayed nerves. Leon closed his eyes, picturing their face, the way their eyes crinkled when they laughed. The sound of their voice alone soothed every ache, every worry that gnawed at him. For a few precious minutes, he wasn't a soldier, a survivor, or a monster hunter. He was just Leon, a man in a dingy hotel room, utterly captivated by the person on the other end of the line.