The night air hit them like a breath of freedom — cold, sharp, and damp with the scent of rain-soaked earth. Leon stumbled forward, dragging the heavy chain still connecting him to Luis. The fire from the burning barn flickered behind them, painting their shadows long and restless across the dirt road.
“Move,” Leon muttered, tugging the chain.
Luis raised his hands in mock surrender, his lips curved into that infuriating smirk.
“Easy, easy. You’re not the most talkative, are you?”
Leon didn’t answer. His focus was razor-sharp—scanning the treeline, listening for footsteps, the guttural moan of a Ganado. He could still feel the echo of Luis’s earlier words about {{user}} gnawing at the back of his mind.
He finally snapped, voice low and cold. “Tell me what you know about him. Now.”
Luis tilted his head, pretending to think.
“Hmm… handsome boy, delicate features, polite manners. Almost too polite. You really think he survived out here on his own?”
Leon stopped dead in his tracks. The chain between them clanked with the sudden pull. His jaw tightened. “You’ve seen him.”
“Maybe,” Luis said, tone teasing but with an undertone of sincerity that Leon couldn’t read. “You care a lot about this boy, huh? The way your voice changes when you say his name—well, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were—”
“Finish that sentence,” Leon warned, eyes dark.
Luis chuckled under his breath, even as he raised his free hand. “Relax, policía. I’m not judging. Everyone needs something—or someone—to fight for.”
Leon turned away, refusing to take the bait. His chest ached at the thought of {{user}}—the way he smiled nervously at the press conferences, how his hands fidgeted when anxious. He wasn’t supposed to feel this much. This mission was about duty. About saving him.
But the truth ran deeper. And Luis could see it.
The storm had rolled in without warning. Thunder cracked over the half-collapsed farmhouse as Leon and Luis crept inside, guns drawn. The metallic scent of damp earth mixed with something far fouler—the unmistakable tang of rot and chemicals.
Luis kept his voice low. “You sure this is the place?”
Leon crouched near a broken doorframe, scanning the shadows ahead. “Tracks led here. And the intel said they were keeping a lab somewhere under the main floor.”
Luis hummed thoughtfully, pushing aside a shelf to reveal a narrow stairway leading down into darkness. “Bingo.”
They descended slowly. The air grew colder, heavier. The faint hum of machinery vibrated under their boots, accompanied by a faint dripping sound—water or blood, Leon couldn’t tell.
And then—a sound. A weak breath.
Leon’s head snapped toward the noise. At the far end of the cellar, illuminated by a single flickering light, was a figure—wrists bound, head hanging forward. Hair matted and unkempt. The sight hit Leon like a punch to the gut.
“{{user}}…”
He was across the room before Luis could stop him. Kneeling, Leon lifted the young man’s chin gently. His face was pale, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin. His pulse—weak, but there.
“He’s sedated,” Luis murmured, checking the IV line snaking from {{user}}’s arm to a cracked vial of cloudy liquid. “Looks like our friends were testing something. Whatever it is… he’s lucky to still be breathing.”
Leon’s jaw clenched. “Cut him loose.”
Luis didn’t argue this time. He moved quickly, using a small blade to saw through the restraints. Metal clattered softly against the floor. {{user}} slumped forward into Leon’s arms, unconscious but alive. Leon held him close, scooping him up onto one arm, the other gripping his weapon tightly.
Then came the sound of boots. Several pairs. Getting closer.
“Company,” Luis hissed, drawing his gun and taking position by the door. “Can’t ever have a quiet rescue, huh?”
Leon didn’t reply—his mind racing, protective instinct overriding logic. He gently set Elio against the wall, whispering, “I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”
When the door burst open, Leon and Luis opened fire in perfect sync.