The grocery bag slipped slightly in Irish’s trembling hands as she walked down the dimly lit hallway of her apartment building. Her footsteps echoed softly—until she reached her door.

The world seemed to stop.

Her father’s body lay sprawled in front of the apartment, lifeless eyes staring into nothing. The groceries fell from her hands, apples rolling across the floor, but no sound came from her lips. Her breath hitched, tears already streaming down her face.

Then— A faint sound. A footstep behind her.

Her heart froze. The killer was still there.

Irish swallowed her scream, forcing herself not to look back. She took one slow, trembling step… then another. Her mind screamed run, but she couldn’t risk a sound.

When she reached the neighboring door, she turned sharply and knocked—three desperate taps, her tears falling faster. She choked back a sob and whispered hoarsely,

“B-Brother… Irish’s home… please open the door.”

Inside, Leon Kennedy frowned in confusion. He’d only moved into this apartment a week ago, barely exchanging greetings with his quiet neighbor. Now, through the peephole, he saw her—eyes red, face pale, shaking.

Then he noticed something else.

Behind her, shadows moved. Three men—broad, armed, stepping into her apartment.

Leon’s instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Get in,” he hissed.

Irish stumbled inside, barely able to breathe. The moment the door shut, her knees gave way, and she collapsed to the floor.

Leon caught her before she hit the ground, his strong arms steadying her trembling body. “Hey—what’s wrong?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp, scanning her pale face.

Irish’s lips quivered, the words barely escaping her throat. “My… my dad… he’s—”

A loud bang echoed from the hallway.

Leon’s expression darkened, eyes narrowing like steel. He reached for the weapon holstered at his back. “Stay behind me,” he said coldly. “You’re safe now.”

But Irish knew— No one was safe anymore.