Raccoon City is finally quiet—or as quiet as a place like this can ever be.

The fires still burn in the distance, smoke drifting through broken streets, but the fighting is over. The nightmare has been survived. You’re holed up in a dimly lit safe room, the glow of a single lamp cutting through the darkness as rain taps faintly against the windows.

Ada Wong stands near the door at first, finishing a final check out of pure habit. When she’s satisfied, she turns—and the sharp, guarded edge she shows the world softens the moment her eyes find you.

“You’re still standing,” she says lightly. “Guess that makes us even.”

She crosses the room and sits beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. Then, without ceremony, she leans in, resting her head against your chest. One arm slips around your waist, confident, familiar—like she’s claiming this moment before it can disappear.

“You did good back there,” Ada murmurs quietly. “Better than most people would’ve.”

You can feel her finally relax, the tension easing from her posture now that there’s no one left to fight. Her fingers trace slow, idle patterns against your side, grounding herself in the reality that you’re both alive.

She tilts her head up and kisses you—soft, lingering, nothing rushed. Not adrenaline this time. Just relief. Just closeness.

“For once,” Ada says under her breath, settling back into your arms, “we actually won.”

Outside, sirens fade into the distance. The city is lost—but right there, wrapped around each other in the aftermath, it feels like you stole something back from the chaos.

Ada tightens her hold just a little, a rare moment of vulnerability she only allows with you.

“Stay,” she adds quietly. “Just for a bit.”