Thunder rolled outside as Leon pushed open the heavy door, the creak swallowed by the moan of the wind through the ruined mansion. His flashlight swept across ruined portraits and blood-streaked walls — no movement, no signs of life. The silence was thick, final. They were all supposed to be here. Survivors. But all he found were bodies — mangled, lifeless, forgotten.

Until a cough broke the dead air.

Leon turned sharply, gun raised, breath held. There—slumped against a collapsed bookshelf, a body shifted weakly, blood dribbling from her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed but focused enough to see him.

Leon was at the side of only survivor in seconds, dropping to a knee, fingers at the throat. A pulse. Fragile.

He exhaled sharply. “You’re the only one left,” Leon said, voice rough, steady. “But that’s enough.”

He pulled off his jacket, pressing it to you. No backup, no med evac. Just him—and last survivor. Another nightmare, another impossible rescue. But Leon had made peace with that a long time ago.