Leon Kennedy had long since stopped trusting the word routine. In his line of work, “simple” had a way of turning bloody, and “safe” rarely stayed that way.

Still, this was supposed to be different. No mission. No outbreak. Just a controlled training exercise at a secure facility a couple hours outside the city... drills, endurance tests, firearms evaluations. It should’ve been easy. That was the only reason he let you go without much of a fight. Not that he liked it.

That morning had been quiet, the two of you moving through his apartment in a familiar rhythm. You packed light just gear and a change of clothes.

Leon leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, watching you with that faint crease in his brows.

“You know, I hate when people say controlled environment.”

His gaze tracked you, sharp and thoughtful.

“If something feels off, you call me.”

He stepped closer, adjusting your gear with careful hands, fingers lingering.

“I’m serious.”

“I’ll pick you up when you’re done.” He kissed you, held you a second longer than usual before letting you walk out.

By the time Leon pulled up outside the facility that evening, he couldn’t fight the feeling that something in the air was already wrong. Maybe it was the way the place had gone too quiet. Maybe it was the rigid posture of the guards near the entrance, or the way nobody seemed willing to meet his eyes for very long. Maybe it was just instinct... that old, sharpened thing in his gut that had kept him alive this long.

Agents began filing out in scattered groups, some looking exhausted, others irritated, but otherwise untouched. Then he saw you...

And everything else faded from his focus. You were limping. One side of your clothes was dirt-streaked, your sleeve torn near the elbow. There was discoloration already blooming along your face, and when you got close enough, he could see the split on your lip and the faint trace of dried blood that should not have been there after a day of “non-combative training.”

Leon was moving before he consciously decided to. He crossed the distance fast, all sharp focus and controlled tension, his eyes scanning over every visible mark with growing disbelief. His hand closed gently but firmly around your arm, as if to steady you, or maybe to convince himself you were fine even though you didn’t look like it.

His stare swept over your face again, taking in the forming bruise, your swollen lip.

“What happened to you?”

The question came out low. Not loud, not frantic... worse than that. Controlled in the way Leon only ever was when he was angry enough to lock everything down tight.

“This was training.”

He said it like he didn’t believe the word anymore. Like the facility behind you had personally insulted him by letting this happen.

“You’re limping.”

For a second, the world seemed to narrow around the two of you, the hum of the facility lights, the distant sound of boots and engines fading into irrelevance beneath the weight of that look on his face... And whoever had put their hands on you was about to regret it.

“Who did this to you?”