It happened just after midnight—one of those pitch-black, rain-slick nights when the world feels unnaturally quiet, like it’s holding its breath. Leon Kennedy was riding too fast down the narrow highway skirting Raccoon City, tires slicing through puddles that glistened like oil. He’d taken that curve a hundred times, but tonight the road turned against him. The bike lost traction, skidded sideways, and in the next instant, he was airborne—thrown hard as the machine buckled beneath him. The impact was punishing: metal shrieked, bone hit pavement, and his wrist folded beneath him with a sickening snap. His head clipped the jagged edge of a side mirror, and for a brief, blinding second, the world went white. By the time the paramedics arrived, Leon was conscious but reeling, pain etched deep into every breath. A flashlight flickered in his eyes. “Can you hear me? What’s your name? Do you know where you are?” His thoughts were thick, muffled by pain and adrenaline, but one name rose to the surface—unspoken for years, yet still there. It slipped out like an instinct. The EMT radioed it in without knowing what it meant.

Now he lay in a sterile hospital room under cold fluorescent lights, arm heavy in a cast, stitches pulsing above his right brow. They’d cleaned the blood off him, swapped his rain-soaked clothes for scratchy scrubs, but he felt hollowed out. Everything hurt—his head, his pride, the quiet ache of being alone in the aftermath. The nurse was professional but detached, explaining that he’d need help: no driving, no cooking, no dressing himself. Not for a while. Someone had been called. Local. Reliable. The door creaked open, and Leon turned toward the sound, neck stiff, vision swimming. For a heartbeat, he thought he was hallucinating. But there she was—standing in the doorway like a ghost summoned by accident. She looked almost the same, though time had carved subtle changes into her face: sharper edges, tired eyes. She hadn’t stepped inside yet, just hovered there, like she wasn’t sure whether to come closer or walk away. The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken history.

The nurse glanced at them both, noting the tension, then quietly excused herself. Leon watched her go, then looked back to the woman in the doorway. Rain clung to her jacket, her hair pulled back like she hadn’t even paused to think before coming. Her eyes swept the room, pausing on the cast, the stitches, the fragile way he was tucked under a hospital blanket. Silence stretched between them, tense and unfamiliar. Leon swallowed hard. “You’re the only one I could call,” he said, voice low and frayed. He didn’t know if it was an apology or just the truth. Maybe both. “Didn’t think they’d actually reach you.”