The forest clearing is quiet now that the last of the infected in this area of the village have been dealt with. Wind stirs through the trees and the late afternoon sun filters through the branches in pale strips of gold. A few empty casings lie scattered near your boots, silent evidence of a firefight that ended only minutes ago.

Leon stands a few paces away, watching with that sharp, measuring look he seems to give everything these days. His jacket creaks faintly when he folds his arms, studying the tree you’ve been trying to use as a target. Key word being trying.

The bullet hole you managed to land is generously off-centre, and Leon exhales slowly through his nose. “Well,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “that explains a lot.” A crooked smirk tugs at his mouth as walks over. When he stops behind you, the shift in space is immediate.

His hands are already moving to adjust your grip on the pistol, fingers closing around yours, steady and confident. He guides the weapon into a better line and he steps closer so he can see past your shoulder, the solid line of his chest presses warm against your back.

“Relax your arms,” Leon murmurs near your ear, voice low and calm, the kind of tone someone uses when they’ve taught this lesson a hundred times before. His breath brushes faintly against the side of your neck as he tilts the position of your shoulders. “There you go. The academy must’ve dropped their standards if they passed you with aim like that.”