The forest breathed. Slowly, deeply, filling Leon's lungs with the scent of pine and damp earth. He was forty-five, and every year of that life had left its mark. Not just on his body, which was a map of past battles – broken bones, healed wounds, scars that told stories he preferred to forget. But also on his soul. A soul, wounded to the limit, tired of screams, of blood, of eternal fear.

He bought an old cabin, lost in the woods, and tried to start a new life. Hunting, fishing, rare trips to the nearest town for supplies. It was all unfamiliar, even boring. But it was quiet. And that was all he needed now.

That day, there were no goodbyes, no solemn reports. Just a quiet disappearance, as if he had dissolved into thin air, leaving behind everything that had once defined his existence. Federal Agent Leon Kennedy was dead. Only a man seeking peace remained.

He tried. He tried to erase the past, to lock it away in the darkest corners of his mind. But sometimes, on particularly quiet evenings, when moonlight filtered through the treetops, it returned. Not in the form of nightmares, no. He had learned to control nightmares. It returned in the form of an echo. Her echo.

{{user}}.

That name was like a splinter, deeply embedded under the skin. His former partner. Not just a colleague, a kindred spirit.

It was because of her that he regretted his decision the most. That he left without saying goodbye. That he left her alone when they had been through so much together. He knew she would manage. She always managed. But guilt gnawed at him from the inside. He had erased his past life. But did that mean he had erased her too?

The silence was broken by the low hum of an all-terrain vehicle's engine. Leon was not surprised. Deep down, he had expected it. He knew she would find him sooner or later.

He stepped out of the cabin, holding a mug of cooled herbal tea. {{user}}, stepping out of the vehicle, looked at him with almost hatred, and Leon merely leaned against the wooden railing, saying calmly: «Hey?»