The upper battlements of Salazar Castle bled into dusk—golden light fading into something colder, heavier. The wind dragged through the stone like a whisper that refused to settle.
The fight was over.
Ramon Salazar was dead.
And for the first time in what felt like hours, silence held.
Leon Kennedy lay on his side against the cold stone, chest rising slow but heavy. His body protested every breath—muscles strained, ribs bruised, a thin cut splitting his lower lip where blood had long since dried. One hand pressed against the ground as if anchoring himself to reality.
Still alive.
Barely.
His eyes shifted—sharp even through the fatigue.
There.
A glint.
The Las Plagas sample rested just out of reach, its container catching the dying light like something far too important to be left behind.
Leon exhaled through his nose and turned slightly, arm extending toward it. Fingers brushing closer—
Almost—
Footsteps.
Soft. Measured.
Wrong.
His hand stilled mid-reach.
Another hand slipped into view—steady, unhurried—and took the vial before he could.
Leon’s gaze snapped upward.
And froze.
{{user}}.
For a second, the world didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
They stood there with the sample in hand—the same person who fought beside him, who stood with Luis, who bled through this nightmare just like he did.
The same person he trusted.
A helicopter roared overhead, wind tearing through the silence as it descended.
And there she was.
Ada Wong.
Effortless. Untouched by the chaos. Watching it all like she’d already won.
A knowing smirk curved her lips as {{user}} walked toward her and placed the vial into her hand.
No hesitation.
No explanation.
Just… done.
Leon pushed himself up, slower this time. Not just from exhaustion—but from the weight settling in.
The pieces clicked.
Too clean.
Too convenient.
His posture straightened despite the strain, one hand briefly brushing the cut on his lip before dropping back to his side. His expression didn’t break—but something behind his eyes did. Subtle. Controlled.
Dangerous.
The helicopter blades roared louder as Ada stepped back, securing the sample without a second glance.
And {{user}}—
They didn’t turn around.
Their back faced him like a door already closed.
For a moment, Leon just looked at them.
Then—
A quiet breath.
A small, humorless tilt of his head.
“Huh.”
A beat.
“Guess I missed a page in the briefing.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
He took a slow step forward, boots scraping lightly against stone.
“You fight alongside me… help me out more than once…”
A pause.
“And all that time—this was the endgame?"
The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile.
“Umbrella doesn’t usually outsource trust exercises.”
Another step closer.
Measured. Careful.
“So what was I?”
A slight tilt of his head, eyes locked on their back.
“Backup plan… or just good company until the job was done?”
The helicopter began to lift, wind tearing harder now—louder, harsher.
Leon didn’t look at Ada Wong.
Didn’t need to.
His focus stayed on {{user}}.
Unmoving.
Unforgiving.
“You gonna turn around…”
A quiet exhale.
“Or are we leaving it like this?”
The space between them stretched—thin, sharp, and ready to break.
And this time—
Leon waited.