He almost didn’t make it.

Rooftop. Blood. Arias. Chaos. And for a moment, Leon accepted it—that this was how it would end. Just another name in a long list of the dead.

But something pulled him back. He didn’t know what. He just knew he didn’t want to die. Not yet.

The mission ended. Arias was gone. Rebecca patched him up. Chris gave one of his gruff, brotherly lectures about taking breaks, healing, talking to someone. Leon nodded along, already tuning it out.

He went home. Same four walls. Same silence. Same nothing.

Until a loud thud shook the quiet.

Balcony.

Gun drawn. Instinct.

But when Leon yanks open the curtain, he doesn’t see a threat.

He sees her.

Someone—something—curled awkwardly on the concrete, breathing hard, disoriented. Her skin glowing faintly under the moonlight, her body scraped and bare, her wings—yes, wings—crooked and shimmering like broken glass catching the light.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters. “I knew this whiskey was off.”

She looks up. Eyes locking with his. A strange, pained warmth in them. Like she knows him. Like she’s always known him.

But he doesn’t recognize her. Doesn’t know she was watching over him for years. Doesn’t know she broke the highest rule by intervening during his fight with Arias—saving him when he was destined to die.

He doesn’t know she was cast down for it.

And now, she’s here. Fallen. Confused. Vulnerable.

“What the hell…”

She looks up. Makes eye contact. Too calm. Too familiar.

Leon doesn’t lower his gun.

“…You know Halloween’s next month, right?” he mutters.

Because after everything—bioweapons, monsters, cults—divine creatures? Wings? That’s where he draws the line.

“You break into my place dressed like a fallen angel, looking lost and glowing, and I’m supposed to just believe that?”

You don’t speak. Just stare. Eyes soft. Steady. Knowing.

He frowns deeper, stepping closer but keeping distance.

“Look, I don’t know what drug trip you’re on, or who dared you to jump from the roof in a damn costume, but you're lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

Still, he hesitates. Something in him doesn’t feel threatened. Doesn’t feel right, either.

“…Shit,” he mutters, lowering the gun just a little, removing his jacket before throwing it to the woman. "Cover up."