Leon followed, a couple of steps behind — close enough to keep you in sight, but not so close as to get in your way. Dust from the ruined RPD stirred with every movement you made, hanging in the air in gray spirals. He was reloading his pistol on autopilot — smooth, practiced movements. He hadn’t thought about how many bullets he had left in a long time. He just couldn’t afford to lose sight of you. Not here. Not now.

He muttered something under his breath, ejected the empty mag, and caught sight of you just as you nearly tripped over a chunk of broken concrete. — You know, you should really be more careful, — he said, running a hand through his hair and letting out a heavy breath.

You didn’t stop. Of course not. No reaction at all — just a subtle tension in your shoulders. He quickened his pace, falling in step beside you for a second. His eyes glanced at your arm — a bit of blood, nothing critical. But worry was already clawing at the back of his neck, and with every passing minute, it grew heavier.

— Do you even watch where you’re stepping? — he said a little louder, tinged with irritation but not anger. “Every other brick here comes with a surprise.”

Silence again. Just your footsteps — steady and stubborn, like you were heading straight into where this city had long since died.

Leon cursed under his breath. He knew that look. Had seen it in the mirror. When everything inside is fraying at the edges, but you keep going simply because stopping isn’t an option.

— You trying to fall apart right at the finish line? — The words came out sharper than he intended. He waved a hand, as if to chase off the thought. “Shit. Forget it. Just... don’t charge ahead like it’s a damn death march, alright?”

He fell back again. Same two steps behind. And, goddamn it, he still kept his eyes on your back — like a parent watching their child take their first steps.