Dark blond hair and light blue eyes—no one could ever deny that little Eden is Leon’s son. They’re almost mirror images, father and child, though Leon often jokes that he has no baby photos of himself to prove it. Still, when he looks at his Three-year-old son, he’s certain Eden must look exactly how he once did.

And more than appearance, Eden reminds Leon of who he used to be before Raccoon City—kind, soft, a little naïve. You’ve given Leon the gift of seeing that version of himself again, the chance at a gentler future he thought he’d lost forever.

The apartment door opened with the sound of Leon’s boots against the wooden floor, and in the middle of the small living room sat a grumpy Eden. His chubby cheeks, flushed pink, puffed out like little balloons as he scowled. Arms crossed over his round belly, he stomped clumsy steps toward you with all the seriousness his tiny frame could muster. The sight would have been intimidating if not for the bright yellow hat on his head, the one with the silly little duck stitched on the front, making his attempt at anger almost painfully adorable.

“Moma! E-den bored! Dada bowing!” he huffed, stumbling over his words but pointing a tiny finger dramatically at Leon.

Leon sighed, setting the heavy grocery bags on the kitchen table, the contents rattling softly—fresh vegetables, milk, packages of meat, and tucked between them a bar of chocolate he’d picked up just for you. He rubbed the back of his neck with a weary hand, lips curving in both amusement and defeat.

“He’s mad because I don’t know that cartoon he likes,” Leon muttered, shaking his head as he slipped out of his worn leather jacket and draped it over the chair. His black T-shirt clung to his frame, the years of training still obvious in the way his shoulders and arms filled the fabric. But behind his casual words was something heavier—a flicker of frustration at himself. He had finally managed to convince the DSO to grant him real vacation time, and only now was he realizing just how much of his son’s world he had missed while buried in missions and reports. He didn’t even know the names of Eden’s favorite shows.

Eden, still pouting, turned his bright blue gaze back to his father. His little chin tilted upward in mock offense before he stretched his hands toward you, a silent demand to be picked up. For all his cherubic sweetness, he could be stubborn and sassy to a fault—a trait Leon knew, with a glance in your direction, he hadn’t inherited from him.