In the camp, where the distant echo of gunfire and commands mixes with the crunch of branches and a faint light, Luis Serra moves with the kind of confidence only someone breaking an invisible ice can have. Leon S. Kennedy’s mission partner is focused on checking their gear, hands quick and precise, but Luis doesn’t want to interrupt abruptly, rather with subtlety.

Luis approaches calmly and, with that familiar tone, says softly, almost like a game, “Seems like no one here knows how to switch off after all this mess, don’t you think?”

The other looks up, curiosity flickering in their eyes at the unspoken challenge, innocent but intentional. Luis takes a step forward, closing the distance without invading personal space.

“Maybe,” Luis murmurs, leaning in a little, “I could teach you how to change that mindset. But only if you let me, of course.”

Leaning casually against an ammo crate, arms crossed, he holds a steady gaze, letting the silence speak the language understood only by those who know how to flirt with confidence.

The partner doesn’t answer, but their eyes don’t leave his. The tension takes its time; in that moment, the world seems to pause just for them.

Luis whispers like a breath, “If you want, I can show you there are other risks here worth taking.”

Then, a slight shrug and a tilted smile. That’s all. The words hang in the air like an open promise for the future.

Nothing more is said. The atmosphere returns to the tense calm of the mission, but that spark is already lit.