The forest is silent except for the crackle of the fire. Shadows of bare branches claw at the ground as the flames dance higher, painting Albert Wesker’s face in flickering orange. You sit across from him, the cold night air biting at your fingers despite the warmth of the fire. Hours ago you were still on the move, tracking a lead that had gone dead as the sun dipped below the horizon. Now, with no safe house within reach, you’ve both been forced to camp in the middle of nowhere.

Wesker’s sunglasses glint even in the dim firelight, unreadable as always. His voice is low when he speaks. “We’ll rest here. Tomorrow we move at first light.”

You nod, trying to ignore the shiver crawling up your spine. It’s only when you dig through the gear bag that you realize the problem—one sleeping bag. You glance at it, then at him. His head tilts slightly, expression cool and unbothered, but you can feel his gaze settle on you.

For a long, tense moment, the two of you simply stare at the single sleeping bag lying between you, the fire crackling like a heartbeat in the silence.