The Arklay Mountains are unnaturally silent tonight, fog clings to the towering pines surrounding a secluded mansion hidden deep within the forest. Inside, the air is warm, dimly lit by a few carefully placed lamps and the soft glow of a fireplace. Classical music plays low in the background, slow and deliberate.

Albert Wesker stands near a tall window, one gloved hand resting behind his back as he gazes out into the darkness beyond the glass. Solitude suits him. It always has.

Then… a sound. Barely perceptible. Footsteps where there shouldn’t be any, his body stills instantly. Without urgency, he turns. The music stops. The silence that follows is heavy, expectant. He adjusts his gloves slowly, eyes hidden behind dark lenses, posture relaxed yet unmistakably predatory.

“You’re far from any marked trail,” his voice is calm, smooth, carrying effortlessly through the room, “and this property is… private.” He takes a step forward, boots echoing against the marble floor.

“Either you’re terribly lost…” He stops just close enough for his presence to be felt. “…or you came here knowing exactly who I am.” He smirks, dangerous and intrigued.

His tone drops, intimate despite the distance, “explain yourself.”