Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky had deepened into a heavy navy blue, and the wind tore through the air with brutal force, as if trying to wrench every road sign from the ground. Claire Redfield kept her eyes on the slick asphalt beneath her wheels—each second it grew more treacherous. She sped along the suburban road on her motorcycle, hoping to outrun the storm. But the weather, as always, had its own ideas.

The rain hammered against her helmet like a storm of tiny needles. Visibility dropped by the heartbeat, and her tires began to lose their grip. She had to squint just to keep the road in sight. Every muscle tensed as she fought to keep control of the bike. That morning’s forecast had promised only a light drizzle. But in the mountains, the sky could turn in an instant. Had she known what was coming, she’d never have set out at all.

Yet the thought of surprising Chris had been stronger than reason. The holidays had finally arrived—a long-awaited break from her studies, which had lately begun to feel like a cage. The endless pressure, the professors’ rigid expectations—she’d needed to breathe again. She knew Chris wouldn’t expect her—they had agreed earlier that she would arrive only in two weeks. He was supposed to pick her up from campus, and they would spend the rest of the holidays together.

But after a bitter argument with her roommate, Claire had had enough. She packed up, mounted her motorcycle, and left without a word. She could already imagine Chris’s face when he’d open the door and see her standing there.

Her grip on the handlebars tightened. The rear wheel skidded, sliding over the wet surface. A curse escaped her lips.

A flash of lightning tore across the sky, painting the world in blinding white. She slowed, the tension in her chest rising. A sharp curve loomed ahead. Instinctively, she leaned into the turn—but the road was slick as glass.

The motorcycle protested, tilting dangerously. Claire nearly flew off the saddle. At that speed, a mistake would’ve been fatal. She fought to steady herself, body trembling, managing at the last second to veer away from the guardrail and straighten the bike.

Then came the sting—hot, sharp pain slicing through her leg. A jagged shard of metal jutting from the guardrail had ripped her jeans and skin alike. She hissed in pain, feeling warmth spreading down her thigh. Moments later, the engine sputtered and died with a groan, as if sharing her exhaustion. Claire swore under her breath, swung her leg over, and leaned the bike against the barrier. When her injured foot hit the ground, agony shot through her, forcing a choked cry from her throat.

She reached into the pocket of her red jacket for her phone. Unfortunately, despite several attempts, she couldn’t get it to turn on—it must have died during the ride. On top of that, she’d forgotten to plug it in before leaving. The spare battery was in the backpack. However, the backpack got wet. And the spare battery was probably wet too.

“All right, Claire, don’t panic.” she muttered, exhaling hard. “You’ve been in worse.”

She tried starting the bike again. Nothing. The weather made repairs impossible, and with her leg throbbing, even standing was a struggle. She clenched her jaw and sucked in the cold air. It felt as if the entire universe had decided to pick this very night to fall apart. What now? She was still miles from the city, and no sane soul would be on the road in this storm.

Then, far ahead, she noticed a faint light. She removed her helmet, blinking rain from her lashes. Was it real? A hallucination? No—it was there, steady and small. A lifeline in the dark.

She limped toward it, her leg screaming with every step. Blood mixed with the rain, streaking down her jeans and pooling in her boot.

“I’ll come back for you.” she whispered to her motorcycle. “Promise.”

The walk felt endless. She was soaked, shivering, furious—trembling from cold and fear alike. After what felt like forever, the light grew larger, clearer—a gas station, thankfully closer than she’d thought. A single pickup truck sat parked out front. Through the window, she saw a man seated at a table, steam curling from a thermos beside him. He poured himself a drink and took a slow sip.

Claire spotted a payphone near the building. Limping toward it, she lifted the receiver and dialed Chris’s number. The surprise no longer mattered; she just wanted to hear his voice. Instead, there was only static—then a sharp series of beeps. The storm must’ve taken the lines down. The station was running on a dying generator.

She hung up and groaned, then pushed the door open. Warmth hit her instantly, along with the sharp scent of coffee.

“Are you all right?” the man asked, standing quickly, concern furrowing his brow.

“Not exactly.” she muttered, scanning the room. The snack machine was dead. The coffee machine too. “Wonderful,” she sighed.

“Sit down.” he said gently. “I’ve got fresh coffee.”

“Do we know each other?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she crossed her arms.

“Leon Kennedy.” he said, offering a hand.

“Claire.” she replied, shaking it.

“Redfield?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I work with your brother. Well… not directly, but we’re at the same precinct. I saw your photo on his desk.” he gave her a gentle smile.

“Chris didn’t mention a new colleague.”

“I’ve been here for a few days. And I didn’t expect to meet the sister of the legendary Chris Redfield right away. Wow,” he murmured as she sat down.

“Legendary, huh?” she murmured, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Do you have a phone I can use? Mine’s dead.”

“Afraid not. No signal, barely any power. Lightning hit the mast. The lines won’t be up until morning—if we’re lucky.” He poured her a cup from the thermos. “Here. Drink. You’re freezing.”

He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“Thanks.” she whispered, clutching the cup between trembling hands.

“What were you doing out there, in this storm, alone?”

“I wanted to surprise Chris. Came early for the holidays. But the bike broke down on the way, and…” She gestured toward her leg. “I got lucky, I guess.”

“I can take you to Chris’s place. I’ve got a truck. But first—let’s warm you up.” Leon nodded.

“I left the bike by the roadside. I can’t just abandon it.”

“I’ll pick it up on the way.”

“Seriously? I… don’t even know how to thank you.”

“I don’t leave people stranded,” he said simply. “Besides, Chris would probably kill me if he found out I left his little sister to fend for herself.”

“Shall we go?”

“Sure.”

***

Leon loaded the motorcycle into the truck bed with practiced ease. Claire sat inside, still shivering despite the jacket. She’d tried to help, but her leg and the cold had made it impossible. Now, she simply gave in—to the ache, to exhaustion.

They drove in silence. Leon kept his eyes on the road, sensing she didn’t have the strength for words.

After fifteen minutes, they pulled up to Chris’s house. The rain had softened to a drizzle. The porch lights glowed through the mist—a sign he was still awake, as if expecting her.

Leon helped her down, then started unloading the bike. Claire stood on the lawn, staring into the night.

“Thanks” she said quietly. “For everything.”

“Anytime. But next time, maybe let your brother know you’re coming back.” He gave her a small, warm smile.

“Maybe I just wanted to remind the world it’s not done with me yet.” She glanced over her shoulder, a teasing spark in her tired eyes.

“With you, Claire Redfield, it never will be.” Leon laughed softly.

Before she could answer, he climbed back into the truck. The red glow of his taillights faded into the fog—until the night swallowed him whole.

***

Claire sighed and walked to the door. Her stomach tightened with a flicker of nervous anticipation. She pressed the handle, pushed it open, and stepped inside.

The house was dimly lit. From the hallway came the sound of quick footsteps. Suddenly, the light snapped on—so bright it blinded her for a heartbeat.

“Claire?!” His voice carried everything at once—shock, relief, panic, and that unmistakable big brother energy: torn between hugging her and yelling at her first.

“Taa-daa…” she murmured with a faint grin, leaning against the wall.

“You were supposed to be here in two weeks! What the—God, what happened to you? You look like you wrestled a tornado!” he said, striding toward her.

“I’m glad to see you too.” she replied dryly, crossing her arms.

“Wait! Don’t move. Don’t sit down—you’ll soak everything… no, hold on—this is pointless…” he muttered, disappearing for a moment before returning with an armful of towels and clothes. His expression said it all: apocalypse mode engaged. “Here. Dry off. Shirt, sweatshirt, pants. Change before you catch pneumonia. What were you thinking, Claire?! You could’ve died!”

Beneath the frustration, his eyes betrayed genuine fear—and exhaustion. When he noticed the torn fabric and blood on her pant leg, he went pale.

“Damn it, Claire, you’re bleeding!”

“It’s fine. Just a scratch.” she waved it off, though the pain said otherwise.

“Shower. Now. Hot water. Change and come back down so I can patch that up, got it?”

She didn’t even try to argue. Just nodded and limped upstairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the wooden steps. Chris watched her go, shaking his head like a man who’d just lost another life in a game he couldn’t win.

Meanwhile, he set to work—boiling water, preparing tea, moving with quiet, practiced efficiency. He’d always been like that when it came to her.

When Claire came back down a few minutes later, steam still rising from her damp hair, Chris was placing two mugs on the table. He turned, took one look at her—and almost burst out laughing.

She looked like a teenager raiding her brother’s closet: an oversized shirt swallowing her frame, sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder, sweatpants threatening to fall off entirely.

“You look like a fourteen-year-old who just decided to become a rapper again.” he said, smirking.

“Shut up.” she muttered, but a small smile betrayed her amusement.

She curled up on the couch, pulling the sweatshirt over her hands. The warmth of the tea seeped into her fingers, calming her.

“You didn’t call.” Chris said quietly. “You know I would’ve come for you, right?”

Claire didn’t answer right away. She just shrugged.

“I wanted to surprise you. And… it would’ve been too easy otherwise. A little adrenaline never hurt anyone.”

“Adrenaline? You came back drenched, injured, on a dying motorcycle—and you call that a little adrenaline? You could’ve been killed!” Chris raised an eyebrow.

“I’m killing boredom, not people.” she replied innocently.

“Not yet.” he muttered.

“Hey.” she shot back, half-offended, half-grinning.

“Seriously.” he said, exhaling. “I thought you’d show up in two weeks. How the hell did you even find your way here in that storm?”

“A guy helped me. Leon. He gave me a lift in his pickup.”

“Leon? Don’t tell me—Kennedy?” Chris froze for a second, then narrowed his eyes.

“Mhm. He recognized me from your desk photo. Also, he gave me coffee, so maybe thank him next time.”

“That’s one point in his favor,” Chris muttered, then nodded toward her leg. “Show me. We’re not waiting till morning.”

“Really?”

“Unless you’re aiming for gangrene.”

Claire sighed theatrically but propped her leg on the ottoman. Chris brought over hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and a bandage.

“This’ll sting.” he warned.

“Just don’t say It won’t hurt. I know that trick.”

“That’s why I didn’t.” he said, half-smiling, as he cleaned the wound. “Not too bad, but not great either. Good thing you don’t need stitches.”

Claire hissed when the peroxide touched her skin. Chris shot her a reassuring glance that said Hang in there—it’s almost done, then wrapped the bandage neatly.

When he finished, she tucked her leg under herself and pulled a blanket close. They sat in silence, sipping tea. Only the soft ticking of the clock and the distant murmur of the dying storm filled the room.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Chris studied her, Smiling gently, his smile hid concern and a little anger at Claire's irresponsibility. “Even if you came early.”

“I missed you.” she said softly.

“Yeah. Me too. Just… next time, call, okay? And maybe skip the storm-in-the-middle-of-the-night part. My heart can’t take it.”

“I know.” She nodded. “I wanted it to be special.”

“Oh, it was. Rain, blood, coffee from a stranger, and full-blown drama. Hollywood would be proud.” He gave a crooked smile.

Claire laughed quietly, curling up deeper into the couch, drowning in fabric far too big for her.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… for being here.”

“I always will be.” he said simply.

And they stayed like that for a long time—until their tea went cold, and the storm finally surrendered to silence.

Chapter Text

The dawn above Raccoon City arrived with a deceptive calm. The world still carried the memory of the violent storm that had raged only a few hours earlier. The air was cool and damp, carrying with it the earthy scent of soaked soil and the sweetness of freshly washed leaves. Droplets of dew clung delicately to the branches and grass, reflecting the faint orange glow of the sun as it hesitated on the horizon. The storm had left behind a strange stillness — as if the entire city was holding its breath, bracing for whatever the new day might bring.

In the driveway, beside the modest suburban home, stood Claire’s motorcycle. The rain had stripped away most of the mud, but the bike still bore the visible scars of the previous night’s reckless adventure. Its battered frame looked like both a trophy and a warning. Crouched beside it was Chris, dressed casually in worn sweatpants and an old, stretched-out T-shirt. A rag was draped across his knee, a small can of oil sat at his side, and a handful of wrenches lay scattered across the pavement. His hands moved with quiet precision, each motion calm but purposeful, like a soldier returning to routine.

The front door creaked softly as Claire stepped outside. She wore his oversized hoodie, the sleeves rolled up awkwardly to keep from dangling, and a pair of scuffed sneakers. The bandage on her calf was hidden under the fabric, but her uneven steps betrayed her. She tried to hide the limp, though Chris’s watchful eyes missed nothing. To him, every slight falter of hers was like an alarm bell ringing.

“You don’t have to help me with this.” he said before she could even open her mouth. His voice carried both authority and concern. He motioned toward a nearby crate with a jerk of his hand. “Sit down. I’ve got this handled.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. And then you’ll complain that I handed you the wrong wrench or that I slowed you down.” Claire crossed her arms, eyebrows arching in defiance.

Chris rolled his eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He knew her stubborn streak better than anyone — he had raised her on it. Independence was his gift to her, one he had taught her out of necessity, and now it came back to challenge him at every turn.

After their parents’ deaths, Chris had barely crossed into adulthood himself. Eighteen years old, still more boy than man, and suddenly the weight of parenthood fell onto his shoulders. While his peers worried about college applications, parties, or dreams of careers, Chris had been thrust into a harsher reality. Claire, only twelve then, had lost not just her parents but the innocence of her childhood in one cruel, abrupt moment. Her entire world had been reduced to rubble, and Chris had no choice but to step in as her anchor.

He was there through every milestone — through awkward crushes, tearful heartbreaks, heated arguments, and late-night reconciliations. He sat by her bed when nightmares of their parents’ deaths woke her in tears, cheered her on at school matches, and endured her fiery temper when her will clashed against his rules. She was his little sister, always. And though he knew she was a grown woman now — sharp-tongued, strong-willed, and fiercely independent — in his heart she remained the fragile twelve-year-old who had once clung to him like her only lifeline.

“Go back inside and rest.” Chris said gently, tilting his head toward the door.

“Relax, Chris. I’m alive. My hands work just fine. I can help.” Claire rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Sit down. Seriously. I don’t want to see you limping worse than you already are.” He nodded toward the crate again. “Next thing I know, I’ll be carrying you around the house because you can’t take a single step.”

“Oh my God, Chris…” she muttered, exasperated, though she finally lowered herself onto the crate. “Fine. But at least tell me what you’re doing.”

Chris smirked faintly, lowering his gaze back to the engine. The screwdriver in his hand gleamed in the morning light, moving with practiced ease. Claire sipped coffee from a thermos, watching him for a while.

“You know.” she said eventually. “Sometimes I think you still treat me like a kid.”

“That’s because sometimes you act like one,” Chris replied without looking up. “Like when you ride through the mountains in the middle of a storm.”

“Come on. I just wanted to surprise you…” Claire grimaced.

“And you did. Trust me. Though I’d have preferred a less dramatic version.” Chris finally lifted his eyes to hers, his expression softening.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was filled with the small sounds of life — the metallic clink of tools, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant chirping of birds testing their voices after the storm. Claire fiddled absently with the hair tie around her wrist, her thoughts drifting.

“You know.” she said quietly. “On the way here, I kept thinking about how long it’s been. I missed this. Us. Talking in the garage, wasting time together.”

“ A little? Just say it — you missed my unmatched ability to talk nonsense while fixing things.” Chris snorted.

“Not exactly. More like… I missed having someone who actually listens.” Claire smiled faintly, warmth flickering in her eyes.

“You can always talk to me, Claire. Distance doesn’t change that. Phones work both ways.”

Chris set down his tool, wiped his hands on the rag, and sat beside her on the crate. His gaze was steady, almost protective.

“Yeah. When they’re charged…” she muttered under her breath, embarrassed.

“Exactly.” Chris laughed out loud, bumping her shoulder playfully.

They worked for nearly an hour, their banter and playful jabs blending with the sounds of the tools. The bond between them — forged in grief, tempered by years of shared battles, and softened by moments like this — filled the morning air more strongly than the scent of oil.

“There. Should start now.”

When at last Chris stood, stretching his back, he patted the side of the motorcycle with satisfaction.

Claire slid onto the seat immediately, ignoring the sharp protest from her leg. She masked the pain with practiced ease, but Chris caught it anyway.

“Easy.” he warned, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “No need to test it today. Let your leg heal.”

“Right. I forgot I live with a full-time bodyguard-slash-doctor. You know, you can be insufferable sometimes.” She smirked

“And that’s exactly my job.” Chris chuckled. “But seriously, Claire… I’m glad you’re here. Even if you showed up like a storm.”

“I’m glad too. Even if it came with one of your lectures.” Her smile softened.

Their laughter rose together, carried by the gentle morning wind across the quiet streets of Raccoon City. The bike could wait. For now, what mattered was that they were together — sharing this fragile, fleeting peace.

***

The police station pulsed with the usual rhythm of a new day. Phones rang in rapid succession, voices overlapped as officers debated over reports, and the constant clatter of typewriters and keyboards echoed down the long hallways. The building itself, with its worn marble floors and flickering fluorescent lights, carried an air of history — as though it had seen generations of officers come and go, each leaving behind invisible fingerprints on the walls. Filing cabinets slammed shut with a metallic thud, papers shuffled, and the faint aroma of burnt coffee lingered stubbornly in the air.

Chris strode through the main corridor with his usual confidence, his boots striking the floor in a steady rhythm. He carried a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the scent sharp and bitter — just the way he liked it, dark enough to jolt him awake after too little sleep. A few colleagues from S.T.A.R.S. passed him along the way, nodding in recognition. Chris acknowledged them with the barest tilt of his chin, his mind already elsewhere, focused, unwilling to waste time on small talk.

Just before he reached his office, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, Chris!”

He turned, spotting Leon Kennedy making his way down the hallway. The young officer’s jacket still looked slightly too large, as though it had only recently been issued. His stride was brisk, maybe a touch too eager, and his movements carried the unmistakable weight of someone new — still learning the rhythm of the department, still trying to blend into a culture that could be merciless to outsiders.

“Kennedy.” Chris said with a nod, leaning casually against the doorframe of his office. “What’s on your mind?”

Leon slowed his pace, one hand instinctively adjusting the belt at his hip, where his holster rested. His expression was open, but cautious — like someone treading carefully on unfamiliar ground.

“I was actually wondering about your sister.” Leon admitted after a beat. His tone was careful, respectful, but honest. “How’s she doing?”

Chris’s brows lifted slightly. He studied the rookie, his gaze sharp but not hostile.

“She’s doing better.” he replied after a pause. “She got some rest. The leg’s healing. And… thanks for getting her back the other night. If you hadn’t been there, she might have ended up with a fever in a ditch somewhere.”

“It was nothing. We just crossed paths. She showed up at the station soaked to the bone, freezing. I couldn’t just leave her there. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

Leon shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. He seemed unsure whether to smile or keep a straight face.

Chris’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but in scrutiny. He wasn’t one to hand out trust lightly.

“Not everyone would’ve.” Chris said evenly. His voice carried weight, the kind that came from experience. “But I’m glad it was you.”

For a moment, the noise of the station seemed to fade into the background. The two men stood in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by the bustle of the department, yet somehow set apart from it.

In Leon’s eyes, Chris caught a flicker of something he knew all too well — that unmistakable spark he’d seen before, back when Claire was younger and admirers seemed to hover around her like moths to a flame. It wasn’t malicious, not even fully formed, but it was there.

Chris set his coffee down on the nearby windowsill and crossed his arms over his chest. His voice softened, but his words were deliberate.

“Listen, Kennedy. You’re new here. You’re still finding your footing in this place, and Raccoon City isn’t exactly the easiest environment to get comfortable in. But you need to understand something. My sister… Claire means everything to me.”

Leon straightened instinctively, his posture tightening as though he’d just been called to attention.

“I get that.” he said quietly, with sincerity.

“Claire’s tough. She may look delicate to some, but don’t mistake her for a flower that’ll wilt under the slightest touch. She’s got more fire in her than half the people in this building.” Chris allowed himself the briefest of smiles, though his eyes carried no humor. He leaned slightly closer, his tone dropping into something firmer. “And because of that, I’ll never allow anyone to hurt her. Not even a little.”

The words weren’t delivered as a threat. They weren’t barked orders or empty bravado. They were simple, raw truth — the kind spoken by someone who had already lost too much and couldn’t bear to lose more.

“That’s not my intention.” Leon answered, his voice low but steady. He swallowed hard, his hand tightening briefly on the strap of his belt. “I wasn’t trying to cross any lines. I just wanted to help her.”

“I believe you.”

Chris regarded him for another long moment before nodding once. Picking up his coffee again, he took a sip before adding

“And I’m grateful you were there that night.”

“Happy to help. Always.”

Leon exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening as the tension in the air dissipated.

“Relax, Kennedy. But remember this — with Claire, nobody’s got it easy. Not even me.”

Chris smirked faintly, clapping him once on the shoulder.

“Yeah… I’ve noticed.” he admitted.

Leon let out a small, awkward laugh, unsure if he was allowed to find the comment amusing.

“Good.” Chris pushed open the office door. “Now get back to work before someone decides the rookie’s already slacking off.”

Leon arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He turned on his heel and headed down the hall, his step lighter than before. Chris watched him for a moment, then stepped into his office, closing the door behind him.

Inside, the silence felt almost heavy after the noise of the corridor. Chris set his coffee on the desk, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. His gaze drifted to the framed photo resting on the corner of the desk — a snapshot from a trip two years ago. Claire’s smile was radiant, her hair wild in the wind, captured in a moment of rare, unguarded joy.

Chris’s fingers brushed against the frame. He would do anything for her. Anything. And he silently promised, as he always did, that no matter what storms might come, he would keep her safe.

Chapter Text

The morning in Raccoon had something almost magical about it. It was quiet, peaceful. The sun was just beginning to break through the dense canopy of trees, and every gap in the green vault created beams of light, laying across the paths like golden ribbons. The air smelled of damp earth and fresh leaves, and in the distance one could hear the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds, just starting their daily concert.

Claire walked slowly, as if she wanted to soak up every detail of this place. Her sneakers rustled softly among the scattered leaves, and she listened to that simple rhythm, in contrast to the noise she was used to. At college she didn’t have a moment for herself—running from class to class, constant notes, deadlines, and pressure. On her motorcycle, she couldn’t allow herself any distraction either—every meter demanded focus, caution, reflexes. Here, however, in the park, she returned to something primal and ordinary. To a walk that had no purpose other than to be a walk.

Her leg was still reminding her of itself. A gentle, pulsating pain still recalled the recent events, a moment that could have ended much worse. Every step was a warning, but also a trial—Claire had no intention of giving in to a minor injury. She gritted her teeth and walked on, stubbornly. In her eyes was the determination of someone who refused to let anything stop them.

She paused by the pond. The water’s surface glittered in the morning light like polished glass, only occasionally rippled by the movement of ducks. The bird silhouettes glided across the surface calmly, almost regally, and the sun’s rays reflected off the waves, painting golden highlights. Claire sighed and smiled faintly, almost with relief. Even Raccoon can look beautiful, if you just stop for a moment…

And then she heard footsteps. Regular, measured, firm. The rhythm of boots echoed against the asphalt path, distant at first, then quickly clearer. She turned her head and saw a uniformed figure.

Leon.

He walked upright, his stride confident, hand resting close to his belt, where a radio and other equipment hung. At first glance—a model officer on duty. But when he came close enough for Claire to recognize his face, her heart leapt suddenly, as if someone had added a new melody to her life without warning.

“Leon!” she called, waving her hand.

He froze, as if struck. As though one word had pulled him out of his thoughts. In his head, Chris’s voice rang: My sister… Claire means everything to me. I won’t let anyone hurt her, not even the slightest. And yet her smile—warm, genuine—completely shattered the seriousness he had been trying so carefully to maintain.

“Hey… Claire.” he finally replied, stepping closer.

“Well, well, a cop on duty.” she teased, pointing at his uniform. “And here I thought I’d only see you in civilian mode, saving girls at gas stations.”

“That was a one-time thing.” Leon chuckled quietly.

“One-time?” She raised an eyebrow, amusement flashing in her eyes. “For me, it was more than an exception. Thanks again.”

“Really, don’t mention it. Anyone would have stopped.”

“Not everyone. I’ve seen people who’d rather pretend they saw nothing. That’s not you. And that says something about you.” Claire looked him straight in the eyes.

Leon felt heat creeping under his collar. He had never been good at taking compliments, especially not ones spoken in such a tone—warm, honest, undeniable.

“I just tried to do the right thing.” he muttered.

“You can be ridiculously modest.” Claire laughed, shaking her head.

Silence fell, though it wasn’t awkward. Claire studied him closely, her gaze revealing more than words. She sensed Leon was different today. Stiffer, as if he had built a wall around himself.

“Hey, everything okay?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Yeah, just… duties. Patrol and stuff.” he cleared his throat, searching for an excuse.

“Right, right.” she said, though her eyes betrayed doubt. After a moment, she smiled playfully. “You know what? I’m sabotaging your duties.”

“Sabotaging?” he frowned.

“Coffee.” she said, pointing to a small stand tucked among the trees. The smell of freshly ground beans drifted clearly from there. “I’m buying, you’re taking a break.”

Leon hesitated. He was on duty, after all. But Claire’s gaze… there was something in it that cracked his common sense.

“All right. But just one coffee.”

“Ha! So you can be bribed.” she laughed triumphantly.

A moment later, they were sitting on a bench near the stand, cups in hand. Around them lingered the scent of coffee and fresh air, while the city’s bustle felt far away, cut off by the park’s greenery.

“So, how do you like life in Raccoon?” Claire asked, blowing on the surface of her coffee.

“Quiet town. For now.” Leon thought for a moment.

“For now?” she narrowed her eyes. “You sound like you’ve got bad feelings.”

“No, more like… you never know. But yes, I like it.”

“I’ve always been more of a guest here than a resident.” Claire admitted. “Chris loves this city, and I… well, motorcycles more than Raccoon’s streets. But this park has its vibe.”

The conversation flowed easily. They laughed at ducks trying to snatch a piece of bread from the bench, talked about the morning air, about little things that wouldn’t matter at any other time. Leon felt his reserve slowly melting. Claire had something about her that made him forget the walls he built around himself. Yet Chris’s voice wouldn’t quiet in his head.

Suddenly Claire grew serious. Her gaze landed on a tree a few steps away. On its trunk hung a poster—slightly yellowed, torn by the wind. A photo of a young girl. Below it, one word: MISSING.

“Oh, God…” she whispered, raising her cup. She stood up and stepped closer.

“Yeah. She disappeared a month ago. There was a search, but… nothing.” Leon stood beside her. His eyes hardened, fingers tightening on his cup.

“Not a single lead?” she asked, clearly shaken.

“That’s the worst part. The family waits, and we have no answers. Helplessness can be worse than anything else,” Leon shook his head.

“That’s terrible…” Claire looked at the girl’s face on the poster, as if trying to memorize it.

“Yeah.” Leon agreed. “But we don’t give up. Sometimes clues show up where you least expect them.”

They returned to the bench in silence. After a moment, Claire spoke, trying to lighten the mood.

“You know, Leon, you really need that coffee. You tell the gloomiest stories.”

“Occupational hazard,” Leon laughed shortly.

“Then next time I’m taking you for ice cream.” She grinned mischievously. “So you can actually breathe a little.”

“Ice cream?” Leon nearly choked on his coffee.

“Yes. Best therapy. Better than patrolling the same paths over and over.”

Leon looked at her, and for a moment allowed himself a genuine smile. She had an energy he didn’t want to push away.

“Since we’ll probably see each other again anyway… maybe we should exchange numbers?” when she took her last sip of coffee, she looked at him more seriously.

“Sure.” he said, handing her his phone. Leon’s heart sped up.

Claire quickly typed in her number and sent him a short message: It’s me. So you don’t have an excuse that you lost it.

“Smart.” Leon laughed, looking at the screen.

“Always works.” she winked at him.

Then she stood, adjusting her hoodie.
“Thanks for the coffee, Leon. That was a nice meeting.”

“For me too.” he replied, rising.

He watched as her figure disappeared into the greenery of the park, light and confident. Chris’s words still rang in his ears, but his heart whispered something entirely different.

***

The Redfield house was waking up to the rhythm of everyday mornings. The kitchen smelled of freshly ground coffee, sizzling bacon, and eggs, while from the radio on the windowsill a local station softly poured out, the host talking about the weather and last night’s game. Chris stood at the stove in an old, worn T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still damp from a quick shower. His movements were quick, automatic, as if cooking were just another drill in his morning routine. He handled the pan with ease, flipping eggs and making sure the bacon crisped just the way he liked.

The front door creaked, its echo carrying briefly down the hallway. Claire slipped in carefully, closing the door so it wouldn’t slam. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair smelled of the morning’s dampness and leaves that hadn’t yet dried from the night’s dew. She kicked off her sneakers by the threshold, as if she hoped to sneak upstairs unnoticed, maybe shut herself in her room before her brother could notice anything.

“Well, well, well...” came a voice from the kitchen. Chris leaned out of the doorway, still holding a wooden spatula. “Miss Redfield has returned.”

“That sounds like you were standing there with a stopwatch waiting.” Claire stopped mid-step and rolled her eyes.

“Because I was.” he answered with a smile, though a watchfulness lingered in his eyes that he couldn’t turn off. He set the spatula on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “You disappeared this morning without a word, and I thought you were still sleeping off.”

“I just wanted to take a walk.” She shrugged, sounding innocent—too innocent. “Get some fresh air.”

“A walk?” he repeated slowly. “Alone. At this hour. After barely resting?” His eyes narrowed, yesterday’s worries rising again.

“Chris, please. It’s just the park. I’m not a high schooler anymore that you need to hold by the hand,” Claire sighed.

“Oh-ho, so you are hiding something.” the smile at the corner of his mouth betrayed that he had sensed more.

“I’m not hiding anything!” she shot back too quickly, which instantly gave her away.

Chris just shook his head, as if he needed no further proof.

“Fine, have it your way. But remember, I’ll find out anyway.” He pointed at himself. “I’ve got radar.”

“Radar.” she repeated mockingly, following him into the kitchen. “That your new superpower?”

“Not new.” He placed a plate of eggs and bacon before her. “I tested it on you all through high school.”

Claire laughed, but in a moment the memories of all those awkward situations from years ago came back.

“Oh God, I remember how you scared off every guy who dared talk to me outside the gym.”

“And you see?” he grinned broadly, sitting opposite her. “It worked.”

“Worked a little too well.” she muttered, grabbing a fork. “People were afraid to talk to me.”

“Those were the wrong candidates.” Chris poured her coffee. “The right one wouldn’t be scared off.”

“Oh yeah, every girl’s dream.” she snorted, grabbing the mug. “An interrogation with Chris Redfield.”

“Hey, it wasn’t an interrogation.” He raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. “It was preliminary screening.”

Claire’s laughter filled the kitchen, but it quickly faded when she remembered what she had seen that morning. She set down her fork and wiped her hands on a napkin. Her expression grew serious, a chill crawling down her spine.

“Chris… In the park, I saw a poster.” She hesitated a moment. “A girl. Missing for a month.”

Her brother fell silent. His face took on the mask he always wore when the conversation turned to work.

“Yes. I know that case.”

“It looked like nobody was doing anything about it…” she asked anxiously.

“The truth is, the chief Irons wants to close the investigation.” Chris sighed, rubbed his face, and sat heavier at the table.

“Close it?!” Claire’s voice rose, her mug clattering against the table. “How can you close something like that when you still haven’t found any answers?”

“Because there’s no evidence.” His voice was calm, but behind that calm mask frustration burned. “No witnesses, no leads, nothing to build on. She was in debt and couldn't repay the loan. She probably ran away. And it’s not the first case like this.”

“Not the first?” Claire’s eyes widened.

He nodded.

“The second girl this year. The first case was shut even quicker. No leads, no contact, money gone from the apartment, before that she sent a message to her boyfriend that she needed to get away from the city for a while. Easiest explanation? She ran away from home.”

“That’s awful…” Claire felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

“Yeah.” Chris looked away, as if he didn’t want to see her reaction. “And damn frustrating. But what can I do? We might want to dig deeper, but the chief Irons will shut it down faster than you can blink.”

Claire lowered her gaze to the table. Questions pounded in her head: were there more cases like this? Was it really just runaways?

When Chris stepped into the bathroom, she grabbed a newspaper from the pile on the shelf. She quickly flipped through the local news page. A small note, a brief mention. Another paper, then another. The notes repeated like a refrain: Young woman missing. No police leads. Case closed. Over the past few years, there had been surprisingly many such stories. Too many.

Claire felt her heart beating faster. It was starting to form a pattern. Disturbing, terrifying.

Chris came back and saw her bent over the newspapers.

“Already digging, huh?” he muttered, leaning against the doorway.

“This can’t be a coincidence, Chris.” Claire looked up at him, her eyes full of determination.

“I know, Claire. But without evidence, it’s just speculation.” He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed heavily.

“Maybe someone should take more interest in it than a tiny note in the corner of a page?” her voice sharpened.

“I know this gets to you. But be careful. Don’t go deeper into this than you should.” Chris approached, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“And if no one else will?” Claire didn’t look away. In her eyes burned a stubborn spark.

Silence fell. The air still smelled of coffee, but the atmosphere had thickened, heavy with unspoken words. Chris looked at her with both care and fear. He knew her too well—knew that if Claire latched onto something, she wouldn’t let go. And this curiosity could drag her into something better left behind closed doors.

Chapter Text

The sun filtered through the blinds in narrow streaks, slicing the S.T.A.R.S. office into ribbons of light and shadow. Dust motes drifted lazily in the golden beams, swirling whenever someone moved or a door opened down the hall. The air smelled faintly of coffee and paper—the scent that woke the officers far better than any alarm clock. Desks were cluttered with reports, empty mugs, half-eaten doughnuts, and notebooks left open mid-thought, the ink of unfinished words slowly fading. Somewhere, the old ceiling fan groaned in its steady rotation, spreading the smell of stale air and burnt espresso.

Chris sat at his workstation, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. He hadn’t been able to focus all morning. Every page, every report reminded him of Claire—how stubbornly she would dig into every mystery, how she never let go until she found the answer, even if it meant chasing trouble straight into its jaws. A part of him admired that fire. Another part feared it.

From across the room came the soft clatter of a keyboard. Jill Valentine sat opposite him, focused on a report from the latest training exercise. Sunlight glinted off her dark hair, outlining her in warm gold, and when she lifted her head to reach for her mug, Chris’s gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat too long. Her calm focus was something he’d always envied—she could drown out the noise of the world and move with purpose, even in chaos.

“Lost in thought, Redfield?” she said, eyes still on the screen.

“Maybe a little.” Chris muttered, straightening up and running a hand through his hair.

“A little? You look like you’re trying to solve the mystery of life.”

“Close.” he said with a faint grin. “Trying to solve the mystery of my sister.”

“What did she do this time?” Jill lowered her hands to the desk, tilting her head. Her tone carried a note of amusement—she already knew the answer was going to be something absurd.

“Nothing yet.” he sighed heavily. “But I can feel it’s only a matter of time.”

“Chris, you can’t keep her under glass forever.” Jill said, arching a brow—the kind of look that said Claire is not a kid anymore.

“That’s not it.” He leaned forward on his elbows, voice quieter now. “Claire’s… curious. Sometimes too much for her own good. And you know her—once she fixates on something, we’re all doomed.”

“That sounds familiar.” Jill said with a faint smirk, resting her chin on her hand.

“Yeah, yeah, I know—it runs in the family.” Chris shot back, smiling despite himself.

For a moment, the office was filled only with the hum of the ceiling fan and the faint clicking of distant typewriters from another room. Jill set her pen down and straightened up.

“So, what happened?”

“Well…” He fiddled with a paperclip, twisting it between his fingers. “This morning Claire stumbled on that missing girl’s case. I could tell it got to her.”

Jill nodded slowly.

“Can’t blame her. It’s a horrible story.”

“Yeah, but she’s already digging into it. I caught her going through old newspapers this morning. It’s not her business—but I know her. If she thinks something’s wrong, she won’t rest until she finds out what.”

“That sounds exactly like someone I know.” Jill said, amused.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” Chris replied, rolling his eyes. “But I’m serious. If she gets involved, she might end up in over her head.”

“You think it’s that serious?” Jill leaned in slightly, studying him. She could sense his unease, the way his jaw tightened every time he mentioned his sister.

“I don’t know. But I’ve got a bad feeling.” His gaze drifted toward the blinds. “This isn’t the first disappearance. And I don’t like how fast these cases get closed.”

“Let me guess.” Jill murmured, crossing her arms. “Claire’s already connecting the dots.”

“Exactly.” Chris took a sip of cold coffee and grimaced. “She doesn’t listen when I try to warn her. So… I thought maybe you could talk to her.”

“Me?” Jill raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. She’s more likely to listen to you than to me. You know her—you know how to talk to her.”

Jill leaned back, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“So, I’m supposed to be your voice of reason?”

“No, more like… your voice of diplomacy.” He smirked. “When I say something, it sounds like I’m trying to control her. But you—you actually have influence.”

“Influence, huh?” Jill smiled. “Chris Redfield asking me for a favor. Mark this day in history.”

Chris chuckled, shaking his head.

“Don’t make me sound like a monster.”

“I’m not. It’s just… you don’t ask for help often.”

Their eyes met. Just for a moment—an unplanned pause in time where there were no reports, no paperwork, no routine. Just two people who knew each other better than anyone else. The tension between them hummed quietly, unspoken but real.

Jill looked away first, reaching for the report again, though the smile lingered on her lips.

“Fine. I’ll talk to her.” she said, closing the file. “But if she’s already made up her mind, I doubt she’ll back down.”

“I know.” Chris sighed. “But maybe she’ll at least think twice before jumping in.”

“You know her better than I do.” Jill replied, her smile softening. “But I’ll try. Maybe I can calm her down.”

Chris nodded gratefully.

“Thanks, Jill. Really.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” she teased. “You might curse me after that talk.”

“Not a chance.” He looked at her, more serious now. “I know I can always count on you.”

When she reached for her pen, her fingers brushed his hand by accident. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold still. It was brief—but in that instant, it felt like time stretched endlessly.

Jill cleared her throat, shaking her head with a faint, embarrassed laugh.

“We’ll see what I can do.”

Just then, the office door creaked open and Barry Burton leaned in, his broad frame filling the doorway.

“Hey, paper pushers, anyone seen the armory report?”

Chris tore his gaze from Jill.

“On your desk, Barry. Same place as always. Under that mountain of notes.”

“Ah, so I’ll never find it.” Barry grinned and disappeared.

Both Chris and Jill burst out laughing. For a moment, the office felt light again—just like it used to. But behind Chris’s smile, the worry still lingered.

Jill noticed it as she looked up from her papers.

“Stop worrying so much, Chris.” she said softly but firmly. “Claire can handle herself.”

“I know.” He gave a small, sad smile. “I just wish she didn’t have to prove it like this.”

“That also sounds familiar.” Jill murmured.

Their eyes met again—warm, understanding. In that quiet moment, no words were needed.

***

Claire sat at the kitchen table, staring at the spot where Chris’s coffee mug had been moments ago. The steam had long faded, leaving behind a brown ring on the countertop. A faint breeze from the open window stirred the curtains, carrying in the smell of wet grass and the faint noise of a barking dog somewhere down the street.

The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, mingling with the distant chirp of crickets and the faint rush of morning traffic outside. Claire rested her chin on her hand, her thoughts a calm surface hiding a storm underneath.

By all accounts, she should have been enjoying the morning—summer break, no classes, peace and quiet. But ever since that talk with Chris, something gnawed at her.

Disappearances.

Two girls this year.

No evidence.

Closed cases.

The words echoed in her mind like a haunting melody she couldn’t shake off.

She couldn’t shake the image from the park—the poster of the missing girl. Maybe twenty years old, dark hair, a smile frozen in a moment of happiness. Claire had felt a strange ache in her chest. The girl was gone. And the world had simply moved on.

She closed her eyes and sighed.

You can’t get involved, Chris’s voice echoed in her head. But she only wanted to understand. That wasn’t the same thing. Not yet.

After a moment, she stood, crossed the living room, and climbed the stairs to her room.

It was just as she’d left it—half order, half nostalgia. Old band posters, stacks of books, a travel bag in the corner with a towel peeking out. She went to the desk where her old computer stood, surrounded by the pile of newspapers she’d brought earlier.

She sat down, pulled one close, and began to read.

Missing student from Raccoon City. The date—several months ago. She read slowly, carefully.

Police are still searching for 21-year-old Lisa Graham, last seen in downtown Raccoon City. Officers are asking anyone with information to come forward…

Claire frowned. Nothing specific. No details.

She flipped the page. Another short note. Investigation suspended due to lack of new evidence.

Temporarily, she thought bitterly—the kind of temporary that meant forever.

Within half an hour, her desk was covered with clippings—articles, blurbs, short mentions. Different stories, the same refrain: A young woman disappeared. No witnesses. No leads. Case closed.

Claire ran her hands through her hair.

“How many more of these are there…” she muttered under her breath.

She knew Chris hadn’t lied. The police had no leads. But still… something didn’t fit. Too many vanished stories, too many names swept under the rug.

She closed one of the papers, resting her hand on it.

“This can’t just be a coincidence.”

She sighed again. No. Not yet. She needed to stay rational. No evidence, no proof—only a hunch.

The clock showed ten. Chris was probably finishing his coffee at the station, laughing at some dumb joke from Barry.

Claire stood, stretched, and looked out the window. The sun was breaking through the clouds at last. The street looked peaceful—Mrs. Jenkins watering her flowers, kids riding bikes, a delivery truck rumbling by. Just another ordinary day in an ordinary town.

And yet, beneath that calm, something felt wrong. Like there was a shadow no one wanted to see.

“Stop it, Claire,” she told herself with a small, uneasy smile. “You’re starting to sound like a bad thriller.”

She went downstairs, made some tea, and turned on the TV. A cheerful weather girl predicted a warm day, upbeat music playing in the background. Claire took a sip and leaned back.

“Relax,” she murmured. “Just relax…”

But her thoughts wouldn’t settle. The faces from the newspapers floated before her eyes—young women, all from Raccoon or nearby. None of them ever came back.

She set her mug down and stared at the screen. The host was talking about a new shopping mall opening in mid-July.

Claire almost smiled. Normal life. Normal news. But she couldn’t slip back into that comfort.

She reached for a notebook on the side table and opened to a blank page. For a moment, she hesitated—then wrote at the top:

Missing Women – Raccoon City.

Below, she began listing names and details: Lisa Graham – 21 – last seen downtown – no witnesses. Evelyn Carter – 24 – last seen in Arklay County – case closed.

She stopped, the pen hovering midair.

“What am I even doing…” she whispered.

She was just a student. A mechanic-in-training, with a notebook full of facts that proved nothing. And yet, she couldn’t stop.

“I’m not investigating,” she told herself. “I just want to understand.”

She tucked the notebook into her desk drawer, as if hiding it would make the thought disappear. But she knew better.

She tried to focus on something else—her project, her notes, anything. But every sentence she wrote faded halfway through, replaced by those same faces.

Finally, she gave up. Resting her head on her arms, she stared at the calendar pinned above the desk. July had just begun.

Summer. A time for rest.

But for some, time had stopped altogether.

Claire pushed her chair back and went to the window again. She watched the people outside—neighbors, kids, a pair of teenagers laughing by the corner store. And then it hit her: none of the missing girls were older than she was.

It struck like a stone. These weren’t nameless faces. They could’ve been her classmates, her coworkers, the barista from the café down the street.

A chill ran down her spine.

She closed the window.

Not because it was cold.

She sat again and looked at the drawer where the notebook peeked out. For a long time, she just stared—then slowly pulled it open.

At the bottom of the page, she added one more line:

Check city library archives.

Then she set down the pen.

Not today. Not yet.

For now, she only wanted to know more. To understand—before she acted.

But somewhere deep down, she already knew.

This was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

The city was slowly sinking into a warm dusk. Neon lights along the main streets began to flicker awake, and the air smelled faintly of wet asphalt after the rain. Claire adjusted her hoodie, which kept slipping off her shoulder. Her breath mingled with the thin veil of mist as she walked toward the café on Main Street.

When she arrived, the café hummed with quiet life — people tapping on laptops, couples talking softly, a few off-duty officers nursing their drinks. A soft jazz melody drifted through the air. The scent of freshly ground coffee and caramel hung heavy around her.

Jill was already there. She sat by the window, a cup in hand, wearing that easy smile that instantly softened the tension in Claire’s chest. Dressed in a loose blue shirt, her hair tied up casually, she looked like someone who’d just ended a long day but hadn’t lost an ounce of her calm composure.

“Hey, Claire!” she called out, waving lightly.

“Jill!” Claire smiled, taking off her jacket and sitting across from her. “It’s been ages.”

“Too long.” Jill agreed. “Chris mentioned you were back for the summer. What’s it like being home in Raccoon after all this time?”

“Weird, but… good.” Claire chuckled softly. “Honestly, nothing’s changed. Same coffee smell, same streets. Even the streetlights look like they still remember my high school days.”

“In Raccoon City, time only stops when the power goes out.” Jill laughed.

They both burst into laughter. The atmosphere between them was light and warm — like two people who had known each other forever. And in a way, they had. Claire remembered Jill visiting their home often back then — she’d always been something between an older sister and a role model.

A waiter came to take their orders.

“So.” Jill began once he left, “How are you after the trip? Chris said you had a little adventure on the road.”

“Oh, that.” Claire waved it off. “Just some rain, mud, and bad luck. Nothing major.”

“Bad luck?” Jill arched an eyebrow. “Chris said you almost crashed.”

“Okay, maybe I’m underplaying it a bit.” Claire admitted, laughing as her cheeks turned pink. “But really, I’m fine.”

“You’re lucky that’s how it ended.” Jill said gently but firmly. “Raccoon can be unfriendly after dark.”

“I know. But maybe that’s what I like about it. It’s… unpredictable.” Claire nodded.

“Not everyone likes that side of town.” Jill said with a soft smile. “So, tell me — how’s college? I hope you’re not partying too hard,” she teased, shooting her a playful look.

“You know me, Jill. I’m an angel.” Claire grinned slyly, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her. “A few parties per semester never hurt anyone.”

“An angel showing her horns…” Jill laughed, shaking her head.

“Hey, it’s not that bad! Just three or four parties.” Claire said defensively.

“And the studying?”

“A bit tough. But I’m keeping up.”

Their coffees arrived, steam curling softly in the golden light of the lamps. Claire rested her elbows on the table, watching the vapors rise. A thought had been growing in her mind all evening — and she could no longer ignore it.

“You know, Jill…” she began, her tone turning serious. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Jill said, lifting her gaze from the cup.

“It’s about those missing girls.” Claire’s voice was calm, but her eyes gleamed with determination. “I saw the posters today. One of them went missing recently, didn’t she?”

Jill froze for a fraction of a second. She slid her hands under the table, as if buying herself time before answering.

“Yes. Unfortunately. The police are still investigating.”

“But you haven’t found anything, have you?” Claire narrowed her eyes. “The papers say the case’s gone cold.”

“Not everything the newspapers shows is true.” Jill replied lightly, though there was a weight in her voice that didn’t match her tone.

Claire leaned back in her chair.

“Maybe. But I checked the articles. This isn’t the first time, Jill. Several girls — same age range, same story. All the cases closed. No leads. Sounds familiar?”

“Claire…” Jill sighed.

“What? Don’t tell me it’s just coincidence.” Claire shot back, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “Someone missed something.”

“You don’t understand how it works.” Jill said calmly. “Not everything can be solved. Sometimes the evidence just isn’t there. Sometimes the trail runs cold.”

“But that doesn’t mean you stop looking.”

“Listen. I know you want to help — I really do. But this isn’t your fight.” Jill said, leaning closer.

“Maybe not.” Claire laced her fingers together. “But if no one tries, then what?”

“That’s what the police are for.” Jill replied softly but firmly. “That’s what we’re for.”

“And what if you’re not doing anything?”

Claire’s words hung in the air like a blade. Jill’s eyes hardened.

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not.” Claire admitted quietly. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”

Jill said nothing, absently turning the spoon in her cup. Finally, she sighed.

“Sometimes things don’t go the way we want them to. But trust me, Claire, no one’s sitting on their hands. Sometimes there just aren’t any trails left to follow.”

“I know you’re trying.” Claire said more gently. “But I… I can’t just pretend I don’t care.”

“You’ve always been too brave for your own good,” Jill said, looking at her with a mix of warmth and worry.

“More like too curious.” Claire smiled faintly. “Guess that runs in the family.”

Jill chuckled softly, though the tension lingered in the air. She leaned back and took a sip of coffee.

“Chris is worried about you.” she said at last.

“You talked to him?” Claire frowned.

“Yes.” Jill didn’t avert her gaze. “He asked me to check in on you.”

“So that’s why you’re here.” Claire’s voice carried a trace of disappointment.

“Not only that.” Jill replied evenly. “I did want to see you. But yes, he’s worried — and he’s got reason to be.”

“Chris is always worried.” Claire smiled faintly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt. “If he could, he’d lock me in a cage.”

“He just loves you.”

“I know.” She pulled the cup closer. “But sometimes it feels like he forgets I’m not a kid anymore.”

“He hasn’t forgotten. He just hasn’t accepted it yet.” Jill said, her smile soft but knowing.

“Jill, I can’t just sit and do nothing. Someone has to.” Claire stirred her coffee absentmindedly.

“Claire, please.” Jill reached across the table, placing a hand on hers. “Trust me. Don’t get involved. This isn’t something you should be tangled in.”

“I don’t want to get tangled in it. I just want to understand.”

“That’s exactly what worries me.” Jill’s voice was tender but edged with concern. “Because I know how it ends when you start just trying to understand.’”

Claire looked at her silently. For a brief moment, something like hurt flashed in her eyes — the feeling of not being taken seriously.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” she whispered. “To sit back and watch bad things happen in your own town — and be powerless to stop them.”

“Maybe not all of it.” Jill replied quietly. “But I do know this — the line between curiosity and danger is thin.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between them. Only the sound of rain tapping on the windows broke it. Claire sighed, setting her cup down.

“I promise I won’t do anything stupid.” She smiled faintly, though Jill could tell it was only half true.

“I hope so.” Jill smiled back, though suspicion lingered in her eyes. “Because if you break that promise — I’ll be the first to find you.”

“I believe that.” Claire said with a soft laugh.

They paid the bill and stepped outside. The night was cool, the air laced with ozone after the rain. City lights shimmered in puddles, and the streets were quieting down.

“Thanks for meeting me, Jill.” Claire said, pulling her jacket tighter. “It was really good to see you.”

“Same here, Claire. And remember.” Jill said with a small smile, “curiosity’s a fine thing — but in Raccoon City, it can get you killed. Go straight home.”

“I will. Promise.”

Jill nodded and headed toward her car. Claire lingered under the streetlamp, watching her friend disappear into the dark.

When Jill was gone, Claire drew a deep breath and turned toward the park. The night air was cool, almost soothing. She walked slowly, turning her motorcycle keys in her hand.

Jill’s words still echoed in her mind — but beneath them burned a quiet resolve.

She knew she couldn’t let it go.

And though the sky above Raccoon was calm, something heavy hung in the air — something that hadn’t yet revealed itself.

***

The night was quiet, but not peaceful. The air carried a strange weight — a mix of post-rain dampness and the metallic scent of fallen leaves. Claire shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets, walking slowly down the path lit by uneven rows of streetlamps. When she’d said goodbye to Jill at the corner, she’d smiled and promised she’d go straight home.

Truth was, she hadn’t planned to. She needed a moment alone. After that talk, her thoughts circled endlessly around the missing girls — the posters, the faces that refused to fade from memory.

The park was empty. Somewhere in the distance came the hiss of a bus, the drip of rainwater from tree branches. Claire passed the fountain — dry for the season. The light from a nearby lamp spilled over a bench where someone had left a newspaper — soggy, its headline blurred.

Another case without answers.

She walked past it without stopping. She didn’t want to go there again. But her mind worked like a machine — collecting details even when she tried not to.

Her steps echoed softly against the wet cobblestones. Then — something shifted.

It was subtle. Barely audible. Like the shadow of another footstep.

She stopped and glanced back. Nothing. Only trees, motionless, and a thin mist curling along the ground.

“Nice one, Redfield. Too many late-night news stories.” she muttered under her breath, forcing a smile.

But as she moved on, the echo returned. This time, it wasn’t her imagination. Slow, delayed, following.

She didn’t speed up. Didn’t turn. She knew better. Chris had taught her — don’t panic, don’t let them know you know.

Instead, she adjusted her hair and kept walking casually. She paused by a bench, pulled out her phone — dead. The screen black as pitch.

“Of course.” she hissed quietly, slipping it back into her pocket.

The footsteps were still there. Closer now. Just a few meters behind.

She stayed calm. Straightened her back, fixed her jacket, and headed toward the park exit. Passing a map board and an old coffee kiosk locked with a rusted padlock, she caught a faint movement in the kiosk window’s reflection — a shadow.

A chill crawled down her spine.

Her heart pounded faster, but she kept her breathing steady. She counted her steps — to the next lamp, the next path, the exit. Calculating.

Don’t take shortcuts. Don’t run. Keep the rhythm. Pretend you’re calm.

It wasn’t the first time she’d felt danger — but this was different. Not a sudden burst of fear, but a presence — a shadow clinging to her back.

She stepped under the next lamp — and heard a faint rustle. Like someone stepping on wet leaves.

She stopped.

The footsteps stopped too.

She turned halfway, feigning indifference.

Nothing.

The park was empty.

She shivered, though not from the cold.

Far ahead, the line of lamplights led toward the main gate. Just a hundred meters more.

She walked on.

As she passed the playground, something caught her eye — a flicker of movement, or maybe just a trick of the light. The metal swing swayed gently back and forth, though the air was still.

She swallowed hard and quickened her pace — just slightly, not enough to look like she was running.

Then she felt it.

That unmistakable sensation of someone right behind her — close enough for their breath to brush her neck, even though she knew that couldn’t be real.

She spun around.

The streetlight flickered.

Empty.

She held her breath.

It’s nothing. Just your mind. In, out. Keep walking.

Her fingers tightened around her bag strap. The footsteps came again — shorter now, uneven, like someone trying to walk quietly and failing.

Now she knew.

Someone was there.

She didn’t know who. She didn’t want to.

The park exit was ahead. Streetlights, cars, shop windows — safety.

She didn’t run. Running would make them chase.

Instead, she took a deep breath and began speaking loudly, as if into a phone.

“Yeah, Chris, I’m on my way. Just leaving the park now. No, don’t bother picking me up.”

The air behind her shifted — then silence.

The footsteps stopped.

She paused by the notice board near the exit, resting a hand against the cold metal. Listening.

Nothing.

Just the distant hum of the city.

Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled it from her pocket — slick with sweat. Only now did she realize how tense she’d been.

She stepped through the park gates.

Streetlights flared. A car passed. A man walked on the other side of the street. Life returned.

Claire exhaled.

But her body stayed rigid. She didn’t look back — she just kept walking.

Every sound — a shoe scuff, a bottle clink, an echo down a side alley — seemed sharper, louder.

She stopped only when she reached the late-night convenience store. The neon sign flickered in the glass. She leaned against the window, drawing a deep breath.

Closed her eyes for a moment.

It’s over.

But she couldn’t calm down.

That feeling — of being watched — lingered. Like an echo that refused to fade.

She started walking again, faster now. Past the intersection, the kiosks, the familiar streets leading home. Every shadow, every stray sound made her heartbeat quicken.

When she finally reached her street, the keys trembled in her hand. She slid them into the lock, glancing around.

Nothing.

The street was empty.

Only the whisper of wind through the trees.

She closed the door behind her, leaned against it, and let the air rush from her lungs.

Her heart was pounding wildly.

After a few seconds, she laughed — softly, nervously, almost a whisper.

“Oh God, Claire… really? Scaring yourself now?”

But somewhere deep down, she knew — it hadn’t been her imagination.

Someone had been there.

Someone had followed her.

She had no proof, no certainty. But something in her gut told her — this was only the beginning.

She took a deep breath, crossed the hallway, and peeked into the living room. Silence. Darkness.

She tossed her jacket aside and sank onto the couch, staring out the window. The streetlamps bathed everything in amber light — and on one of them, a raven perched still as stone, watching her.

Claire pulled her legs onto the couch, hugging her knees close.

“Just tired…” she whispered. “It’s just stress.”

She lay down but didn’t sleep.

The feeling wouldn’t fade.

That shadow she’d seen in the park…
…it hadn’t gone anywhere.

Chapter Text

The house was wrapped in silence. Only the clock in the kitchen ticked steadily, its hands sliding through the darkness like drops of time falling one after another. The air still carried the scent of rain — that familiar mix of forest and asphalt seeping in through the half-open window.

Claire slept uneasily. She dreamed of something vague — flickering lights, the echo of footsteps, the cool breath of the park. She dreamed that someone was following her, but when she turned around, there was only emptiness. The same feeling that had tightened her throat earlier that evening.

She jolted awake.

She didn’t know if it was the dream or a sound from outside. For a while, she just sat there, listening. Her heart pounded like a hammer, her body tense as a drawn wire.

Silence.

Only the sound of the wind brushing against the branches outside the window.

Claire exhaled, stretched, and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 2:46. She took a deep breath and lay back down, turning onto her side.

Then — a tap.

Barely audible. Like something striking the glass — maybe a branch, maybe… no. Different. Short. Hard.

Claire opened her eyes and held her breath.

Again. A tap.

This time closer — right by her window.

Slowly, she sat up in bed. The moonlight painted shadows on the wall, shifting gently as the wind stirred the curtain.

She reached out and switched on the bedside lamp. Soft light spilled across the room.

Nothing.

Just her desk, a few open notes, newspapers, and her jacket hanging over the chair.

Claire stood. Her bare feet touched the cool floor as she moved toward the window. The curtain swayed lazily. With one motion, she pulled it aside and leaned forward slightly.

The garden lay shrouded in twilight. The grass glistened with dew, and beyond the fence, the forest loomed faintly. The street was quiet — no cars, no lights.

She was just about to turn away when something — caught her eye.

Across the street, behind the trees, someone seemed to be standing there. A shadow. A tall, still silhouette, blending into the dark.

Claire held her breath.

She blinked.

Nothing.

Empty.

She rubbed her eyes with her hand.

Great, Claire. Now you’re seeing ghosts.

She pressed her palm against the windowsill, trying to explain it rationally. Probably a shadow, a tree, a streetlight — anything. The fact that she’d thought someone was following her earlier wasn’t helping.

She inhaled deeply and craned her neck to look again, but then…

In the corner of the garden, near the garage, something moved.

A slight motion — as if someone slipped from one side to the other. A shadow gliding just beyond the edge of the light.

Her heart began to race again.

“Probably a cat…” she whispered. “Or a raccoon. Or the wind.”

She didn’t convince herself.

She shut the window, drew the curtain closed, and took a few steps back. Leaned against the wall, staring at the door.

Don’t panic. Don’t make a fool of yourself.

But her body had already decided — adrenaline, tense muscles, that old familiar instinct whispering: something’s wrong.

She sat back down on the bed, listening.

For a while, nothing.

Then — a crack.

Not from the window. From outside — like a footstep snapping a branch.

Claire jumped up, moving back to the curtain. Slowly, very slowly, she pulled back the edge.

In the driveway, right next to Chris’s car, something moved.

She froze.

A shadow slid across the car’s surface, then vanished toward the street.

She tried to see more, but the lamps were too far away. Everything drowned in darkness.

She stood there for a minute, maybe two. Finally, with a sigh, she let the curtain fall.

“Perfect. Now even a shadow can scare me.”

She returned to bed, but sleep refused to come back. She lay there in the half-light, staring at the ceiling.

Her thoughts wouldn’t quiet.

Could it really have been someone? Maybe a drifter? Someone from the neighborhood?

Or maybe…

She shut her eyes tighter, as if that could drive away the images her mind kept conjuring.

The shadow in the park. The footsteps. The missing girl’s poster.

“No. No. That’s nonsense. You’re overreacting.” She strung those three things together, then shook her head.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was beginning. Something bigger.

She rose again, walked to her desk, and turned on the lamp. From between her notes, a newspaper clipping stuck out — an article about a missing woman. She grabbed it, reading the title:

Gone without a trace. Police still without leads.

She knew the headline by heart, yet she read it again anyway. Each word seemed heavier now.

Reported missing, last seen near the park…

Claire swallowed hard.

No. No. Coincidence.

She switched off the light and went back to bed. This time she pulled the blanket up to her chin.

She closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply, counting silently.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

Because every time she almost drifted off, she felt it — that sense that someone was standing outside the window.

Watching.

***

Maybe half an hour had passed. The clock read 3:27 when she stirred again. She could tell she hadn’t slept at all.

The room was stuffy. A narrow strip of moonlight slipped in through the gap in the curtains.

She glanced toward it.

Something moved outside again.

This time closer. Right by the fence.

A shadow? A person?

Claire rubbed her eyes, walked to the window slowly, and leaned forward.

Nothing.

Only the tree, its shadow swaying gently in the wind.

“Paranoia. Just paranoia,” she whispered with a quiet, defeated laugh.

She shut the window tight, drew the curtain closed, and sat back down on the bed.

She wasn’t sure if she was more afraid or simply angry at herself.

Because she knew — if Chris found out, he’d worry instantly. He’d probably order nightly patrols around the house, maybe even insist she stay somewhere else.

And she didn’t want to look like a scared girl. Not after everything they’d been through.

She sat cross-legged, elbows on her knees, her head resting in her hands.

It’s nothing. Really nothing. Tomorrow will be better. You’ll sleep, eat breakfast, and stop losing your mind.

But somewhere deep down, she knew this wasn’t ordinary stress.

Something was lurking. In the shadows, in the silence, between the branches beyond the window.

She couldn’t prove it.

Not yet.

***

The air smelled of freshly cut grass and the dampness of morning dew. The sun was already high, flooding the garden behind the house with light. Claire stood on the porch, wearing one of Chris’s old T-shirts and jeans that had survived her last semester. In her hands she held a mug of coffee that had long gone cold, her gaze wandering along the quiet line of trees beyond the fence.

She’d been trying to relax since morning — truly. But no movie, no music, not even a piece of chocolate helped. That knot in her stomach remained, as though something unseen sat beside her, breathing in the same rhythm.

She sighed, set the mug on the railing, and stepped down into the garden.

Chris had a thing about keeping everything in perfect order — the grass trimmed evenly, tools arranged neatly, nothing out of place. For him, the garden was a kind of refuge, a zone of control in a chaotic world.

For Claire, it was simply a place where she could move and breathe.

She walked slowly along the fence, brushing her hand across the damp blades of grass. When she turned to go back to the house, something glinted near the curb. Something small. Silver. She frowned and crouched down.

Cigarette butts. Three, maybe four, scattered in the shadow of a bush.

Claire grimaced.

“Seriously, Chris?” she muttered. “In the garden?”

But then something made her pause.
She picked one up. It was different. Not the kind Chris smoked.

Her brother was predictable — Marlboro Red, always. But this… this was a Camel. With a faint yellow logo she’d never seen him use.

She inhaled deeply. The scent was still sharp. Too fresh.

A chill ran down her spine.

“Maybe… someone stopped by?” she said aloud, as if trying to lend the moment a rational shape. “Someone walking past, maybe tossed it over the fence…”

But when she looked again, she realized the spot where the butts lay was inside their yard — a good two meters from the fence.

She froze.

Her heartbeat quickened.

She picked up another butt, studying it closely. The ash was still intact, pressed together. It couldn’t have been there long — an hour, maybe two.

She began scanning the grass. And then she saw it — a faint footprint, right beside the bush.

She knelt, examining it carefully. The tread was distinct, but unfamiliar. Not Chris’s military boots. Not her sneakers.

The sole pattern was irregular — like that of a running shoe, but heavier. On the side, a small dent, like from a stone.

She crouched closer, touched the flattened grass — still warm from pressure.

“…that’s impossible,” she whispered.

For a while she just sat there in silence, staring at the spot, searching for a logical explanation.

Chris had been at work all morning. He hadn’t returned. The neighbors? Too far. No one had any reason to step onto their property.

The air suddenly felt heavier.

Claire looked around slowly, feeling that familiar twinge — the same one she’d felt in the park. That quiet certainty that someone was watching her.

But no one was there. Only silence. Only the leaves shifting in the soft wind.

She clenched her hand around the cigarette filter and slipped it into her pocket.

Her mind offered two possibilities:

1. It’s a coincidence.

2. It’s not.

And she didn’t like either.

She straightened slowly, glancing once more at the footprint. She took a few steps along the fence path — another mark, this one lighter, as if someone had tried to tread carefully.

Claire drew a deep breath, stepped back, and headed for the house.

She didn’t run, but her walk was too fast — the pace of someone pretending not to hurry.

Once inside, she locked the door.

She leaned against it, listening. Her own breath was too loud. Her heart, too fast.

Don’t panic.

She repeated it in her head over and over. Don’t panic, don’t panic — it’s just some cigarette butts, it means nothing.

But she knew it did.

Claire was rational, but she was also sharp. Years of traveling, of backroads and cities where people vanished without a trace, had taught her to trust her instincts.

She walked into the kitchen and pulled the filter from her pocket. Placed it on the table beside Chris’s lighter. The difference was obvious.

Her brother never threw cigarette ends around. He always had an ashtray — even in the garage.

So who had been in the garden?

She looked out the window. The grass swayed gently. Nothing moved. But in her head, that low, grating thought repeated: Something was here. Someone was here.

She sat down at the table, resting her elbows on the surface, hiding her face in her hands.

She wanted to tell Chris. She should tell him. But then what? He’d sound the alarm instantly, call his colleagues, set up a patrol around the house… And what if it was all in her head? If she was starting to see things that weren’t there?

She didn’t want to sound like someone who couldn’t tell fear from reality.

She gathered the filter, wrapped it in a tissue, and tucked it into the kitchen drawer where she kept miscellaneous things.

It wasn’t proof. Just… something to think about.

She looked out the window again. The garden was calm, sunlight gilding the leaves. In the distance, children’s laughter echoed from the street. Everything looked so painfully normal.

Claire sighed and rubbed her face with both hands.

She wanted to believe it was nothing. She truly did. But something inside her — that flicker of intuition she’d always had — told her she couldn’t ignore it.

She rose and walked to the door leading to the porch. Opened it, gazing once more toward the garden.

The sun glinted off metal, off the tiny beads of dew.

And yet, somewhere in that idyllic scene, she felt… wrongness.

As if something unseen was waiting — poised between light and shadow.

She closed the door.

Drew the curtains.

And only then did she feel she could breathe again.

Chapter Text

The smell of sautéed vegetables and garlic lingered in the kitchen. Chris stood by the stove, stirring something in a pan, wearing his old, faded T-shirt — the one that had survived the police academy years. Two plates waited on the table, freshly set, beside steaming cups of tea.

Claire sat across from him, her elbow resting on the counter, her eyes fixed on the kettle’s rising steam. She looked tired — not just physically. There was something heavy in her gaze, as if she’d spent the entire day wrestling with her thoughts.

Chris noticed it.

“Hey.” he said casually, not looking at her as he stirred. “Do me a favor, will you?”

“What kind of favor?” Her voice was quiet, a little distracted.

“Next time you look like you haven’t slept all night… at least pretend everything’s fine, okay?” he said with a half-smile, though his tone betrayed concern.

Claire sighed, tugging at her sleeve.

“Thanks for the subtlety.”

“Hey, just calling it like I see it.” Chris turned off the gas, slid the food onto plates, and faced her. “Seriously, what’s going on? You look like you binge-watched three horror movies in a row.”

Claire raised an eyebrow.

“Close enough. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Exactly.” Chris sat down across from her, sliding a plate her way. “Something bothering you?”

“No.” She gave a faint smile, as if trying to wave the question off. “Just… weird day.”

Chris studied her. She didn’t have to say it — he knew her weird days better than anyone. She always said that when something gnawed at her, but she wasn’t ready to admit it.

He caught on instantly. Smiled faintly, but his eyes stayed sharp.

“Sure. Because you sound exactly like you did when you tried to convince me you didn’t break up with Tom after catching him with that cheerleader.”

Claire rolled her eyes.

“Seriously? We’re going back to high school now?”

“Seriously. Because you’re avoiding eye contact in exactly the same way.”

“I’m not avoiding it!” she shot back.

“Yeah, you are.”

“Am not!”

Chris smirked.

“Alright, fine, have it your way. But I can still tell something’s up.”

Claire pushed her plate aside and took a sip of tea, buying herself a moment.

“Really, I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep. Maybe too much coffee.”

“Uh-huh.” Chris leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “You know, I can always tell when something’s on your mind. You look exactly like this every time.”

“Maybe I’m just an adult now, and I don’t have to confess every thought to my big brother?” she shot back with a small, teasing smile.

“Sure, you don’t have to tell me.” he replied evenly, raising his hands in a mock gesture of peace. “But you know I’ll find out anyway.”

“You always have to know everything, don’t you?” Claire chuckled softly, nervously.

“No. Just the things that concern my little sister — the one who currently looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

She fell silent. Her fingers began to tap against the table — rhythmic, unconscious. Chris noticed.

“Oh, there it is.” he said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s starting.”

“What is?”

“That.” He nodded toward her hands. “You always do that when something’s bothering you.”

Claire glanced down at her fingers, as if realizing it for the first time.

“That’s not true.” she mumbled, hiding her hands in her lap.

“It is true.” Chris smiled gently. “You did it before every exam. And that time you tried to convince me you hadn’t lost my car keys.”

“Give me a break, it’s nothing.” she protested, though there was a flicker of amusement — and guilt — in her eyes. “Don’t start, please.” she muttered, rolling her eyes and leaning back.

“Alright. But answer me one thing — did something happen?” Chris leaned forward slightly.

Claire hesitated. Her heart skipped.

Should she tell him? Or not?

“I found cigarette butts in the yard today.” she blurted out, the words slipping before she could stop them. She blinked, unsure what to add.

“What?” Chris straightened.

“You know… cigarette butts. Probably yours, right?”

“Mine?” He frowned. “I’d never toss them on the grass.”

“Maybe they’re old, maybe someone was there before… I don’t know.” She already regretted bringing it up.

“Show me where.”

“No, no, I already cleaned it up. It’s nothing.” She tried to sound casual, but her voice trembled slightly.

Chris rested his elbows on the table, his expression sharpening.

“Claire… was someone in the yard?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. Maybe the wind blew them over from the street.” She waved a hand quickly. “Seriously, it’s nothing.”

“When did you find them?”

“I don’t remember. Morning, maybe.” She began gathering plates, anything to keep her hands busy. “It just caught my eye.”

Chris stood up too.

“Claire.”

She froze at the sink.

“What?”

“You never ignore things like that.”

She turned, holding a plate.

“Chris, please. Don’t make a big deal out of it. They’re just stupid cigarette butts.”

“No, that’s not it.” He stepped closer. “You’re hiding something. I know you are. I know you better than I know myself.”

Claire set the plate down, leaning against the counter, looking away.

“Really… nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired.”

“Mhm. And that’s why you can’t look me in the eye.”

“Chris!” Her voice rose, sharp with irritation. “Let it go, okay?”

They stared at each other in silence.
Chris started to speak, then stopped. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“You know… you remind me of yourself in high school,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “You looked exactly like this when you’d done something but didn’t want to tell me.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Maybe. But it’s the same face.” He smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed serious. “And the same stubbornness.”

“I don’t have to tell you everything.” Claire murmured, looking down.

“Maybe not. But you know I’ll still worry until you do.”

“I know.” Her voice softened. “But really, everything’s fine.”

“Thanks for dinner,” she added, turning toward the stairs.

Chris almost stopped her — almost told her to wait, to talk — but he didn’t. He knew better. When she was like this, closed off and determined to keep her silence, no amount of pressing would help.

He listened as her footsteps faded up the stairs, followed by the quiet click of her bedroom door.
He stood there for a moment, his hands resting on the table, eyes fixed on the thin steam rising from his tea.

He sighed softly.

“Damn it, Claire...” he muttered under his breath. “Something’s going on, and you’re bottling it up again.”

He looked toward the stairs.

He knew there was no point knocking now. When she shut down like that — guarded, stubborn — no question could reach her.

But he also knew her too well. And one thing was certain:

Whatever it was, sooner or later, it would come to light.

***

Silence.

The kind that doesn’t let sleep — too heavy, too dense, as if even the air itself were holding its breath.

Claire turned on her side, staring at the ceiling of her room. The clock on her nightstand ticked three more minutes forward, and still, sleep wouldn’t come.

Something was wrong.

She couldn’t say what exactly, but that feeling… it pulsed in her chest, an echo of unease that no logic could drown out.

She threw off the blanket and sat up, pulling a sweatshirt over her shoulders. The clock read 2:46.

The house was wrapped in half-darkness. The corridor was silent, and the floor creaked faintly beneath her bare feet.

She walked slowly down the stairs, her hand brushing the railing. A dim, bluish glow came from the kitchen — the faint light of the kettle’s diode and the microwave clock.

She opened the refrigerator. Cold light spilled into the room, slicing through the darkness.

She took out a bottle of water, poured some into a glass, and set it on the counter.

Took a sip.

And then she saw it.

Through the kitchen window that looked out into the garden.

At the far edge of the property — where the tall trees grew and the fence met the forest — a figure stood.

Dark. Motionless.

She couldn’t see the face, but she saw a small, glowing dot — orange, faint, pulsing.

A cigarette.

She froze. The glass trembled slightly in her hand.

She stared at that point for several seconds, trying to explain it rationally. Maybe a neighbor? Someone from town? But no — the fence was high, and no one had any reason to stand there at this hour.

Then the cigarette’s glow brightened — as if someone had taken a deep drag.

The shadow moved one step forward.

And something inside her quivered.

Claire stepped back half a pace, her elbow hitting the edge of the counter. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor with a sharp crack.

“Damn it.” she hissed under her breath.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the house like an alarm. She froze. Still staring at the window. The shadow didn’t move — but the glow of the cigarette had vanished.

No… no, no, no. Not now.

Heavy footsteps came from the staircase.

Chris.

“Claire?!” His voice sounded sleepy but alert — the kind of alertness honed by years on the force. “Everything okay?!”

Claire crouched quickly, gathering up the shards of glass.

“Yes!” she called, trying to sound calm. “Yeah, sorry! I dropped a glass!”

Chris appeared in the doorway, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair a mess.

“What happened?”

“Nothing” she answered quickly. “Just broke a glass.”

When she turned to toss the shards into the trash, she noticed through the corner of her eye that Chris was looking at the window.

“Claire…” he said quietly. “Why are you standing here in the dark?”

“Didn’t want to wake you with the light.”

“Uh-huh.” He stepped closer, still gazing outside. “You checking something?”

“No, I just…” she hesitated. “Thought I saw something.”

“What kind of something?”

She took a breath, forcing herself to stay composed. She couldn’t tell him the truth — she knew how he’d react. He’d start hovering over her, treating her like glass.

“I thought it was an animal.” she said with a faint smile, reaching for a paper towel. “Probably a raccoon or a fox. I saw a shadow, but… it must’ve just been my imagination.”

Chris narrowed his eyes.

“An animal?”

“Yeah.” she shrugged. “You know — night, darkness, kitchen light, maybe the shadow shifted.”

Chris kept staring out the window.
There was nothing there. Only trees, still in the faint breeze, and the moonlight slipping through the leaves.

“You know that if you ever see anything — anything at all — you should wake me up, right?”

“I know. But I wasn’t going to wake you over a stupid raccoon.”

“A raccoon…” he muttered, half amused, half unconvinced. “Claire, it’s two-thirty in the morning. I know you like your late-night internet adventures, but maybe try sleeping like a normal person, huh?”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” she muttered. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“And now you’re cleaning glass. Great plan.” He stepped forward, taking the paper towel from her hand. “Give me that before you cut yourself.”

“Chris, seriously, I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. Doesn’t mean you have to,” he said, crouching to pick up the larger pieces. “You always find something to do in the middle of the night.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

Claire hesitated — just a second too long.

Chris looked up at her, raising a brow.

“Claire?”

“I told you, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Mm-hm…” He set the glass down and straightened up, leaning against the counter. “And that’s why you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Stop it, really. There’s nothing wrong.”

“Every time you say that, something’s wrong.” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Chris…” she sighed, placing a hand on his arm. “Really. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Then why are your hands shaking?”

Claire quickly hid them behind her back.

“Because I freaked out when I dropped the glass, okay?” she snapped, a little too sharply — but there was something else in her tone too. A plea for him to let it go.

Chris studied her for a moment, then sighed.

“Alright.” he said, nodding. “But if anything seems off, you tell me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I don’t need a repeat of high school, when you tried to hide every problem from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything.” she said with a crooked smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Want me to swear on your old Yamaha?”

“Oh no, don’t drag my bike into your lies.”

“It was just an example.” she shrugged.

Chris shook his head but smiled faintly.

“Alright, go to bed. I’ll lock the windows, since some animal gave you a scare.”

“It didn’t scare me.” she said firmly, meeting his eyes. “It just… startled me.”

Chris didn’t look convinced. He stepped closer to the window, peering outside. For a moment, they both stood in silence. There was nothing — only the pale moonlight and the still garden.

“Weird.” he muttered, leaning closer to the glass. “Thought I saw something glint out there.”

“Probably a reflection.” Claire said quickly. “Or a streetlight.”

“Maybe.” But his tone was too serious.

Claire forced herself to stay composed. She knelt again, pretending to check for more glass even though she’d already cleaned everything. Every move was deliberate, precise — anything to avoid looking outside.

“You know what? I’ll go check.” Chris said, turning toward the door.

“There’s no need.” Claire’s head snapped up. “Really, there’s no point.”

“It’ll just take a second.” he replied calmly — but with that steady tone that didn’t allow argument. “You said it was an animal. I just want to make sure it’s not digging up the yard.”

“Chris, don’t—”

But he was already moving toward the door.

Claire stayed in the kitchen, her heart pounding like a hammer. She heard him open the back door, the hinges creaking in the darkness, and felt the rush of cold air sweep through the room.

She stood frozen, staring at the doorway that led to the garden. She felt that if she moved — even an inch — something would happen.

“Chris?” she called after a moment.

“All clear!” his voice came from outside. “Nothing here!”

She heard his footsteps on the grass, the rustle of leaves. Saw the beam of a flashlight — the one he always kept by the door.

After a few minutes, he came back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Empty.” he said simply, shutting the door. “No animal, no nothing.”

“I told you there was nothing.” Claire said, forcing a smile, though her voice trembled slightly.

“You sure it wasn’t someone?” Chris studied her closely.

“Who would it be?” she asked too quickly.

“I don’t know.” He frowned. “But you’ve heard, right? Strange people hanging around town lately. Better stay alert.”

“Yeah.” Claire nodded.

Chris stepped closer, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“If you see anything again — anything — don’t play hero. Got it?”

“Yes, Captain.” she tried to joke, but her voice came out faint, almost lifeless.

“Good. Go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Chris said with a half-smile.

He turned and went upstairs, his footsteps fading away.

Claire stayed where she was.

She stood in the kitchen for a long while, staring through the window. The garden was still, empty. The tree where she’d seen the figure stood quietly, as always.

But at the very end of the yard, where the ground was damp from rain, something small gleamed in the moonlight — a tiny speck of metal. Maybe a bottle cap. Maybe a lighter.

She couldn’t look away.

Finally, she sighed, turned off the light, and went back to her bedroom. She lay down — but didn’t close her eyes.

She listened.

Silence. Only the ticking of the clock and the whisper of leaves.

But within that silence, there was something else — something faint, elusive. Like the echo of a breath behind the wall.

And Claire knew that even if Chris hadn’t found anyone — someone had been there.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun spilled over the streets of Raccoon City like honey—heavy and golden. Warm light glimmered in shop windows, in the metal door handles, in the side mirrors of parked cars. Claire walked at an easy pace toward the park, raising her hand to brush aside a strand of hair the wind had just tossed across her face. She wore a light denim jacket and a black T-shirt with a faded print.

Leon was already waiting by the bench, beneath the shade of an old oak. He wore a simple gray t-shirt and dark jeans, his blond hair slightly tousled—as if he had just come back from training or taken off his police cap after a long shift. A bag was slung over his shoulder, and in his hand he held two paper cups of coffee.

She smiled when she saw him.

The moment he noticed her, he straightened instinctively. It was that same reflex Claire had noticed when they first met—as if his body reacted to her presence before his mind could catch up.

“Hey.” he said, smiling in that easy way that wasn’t quite as effortless as it tried to be. “Thought you might need some caffeine.”

Claire returned the smile, taking the cup from him. Their fingers brushed for a heartbeat—a fleeting touch that both of them felt far more than they should have. For a moment their eyes met, and just as quickly, both looked away, pretending nothing had happened.

Silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing.

They sat down on the bench. Around them, the warm calm of summer lingered. Children ran across the grass, someone played a guitar in the distance. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the aroma of their coffee.

“How was your day?” Leon asked after a while, sipping his drink.

“You know, the usual.” Claire shrugged, her gaze resting on the surface of the lake. “Cleaned up the garden, did some reading. Got a little bored, to be honest.”

“Sounds... peaceful.”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I needed. Peace.”

They fell silent again.

Leon watched her from the corner of his eye—she had that quiet strength about her, a gentleness that didn’t hide the fire beneath. Her eyes were full of life, and yet... somewhere deep inside, a shadow flickered. Something she didn’t want to show.

Claire felt his gaze, though she pretended not to notice. She leaned back against the bench, tilting her face slightly toward the sun.

“I have to admit.” she said after a moment, “Raccoon looks completely different from how I remember it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. It used to feel... smaller. Quieter. Fewer people, fewer sounds. Now it’s all changed.”

“Maybe it’s you who changed, not the city.” Leon smiled faintly.

“Maybe.” she admitted, glancing sideways at him. “But I’m not sure if it’s for the better.”

Their eyes met again.

Just for a second.

But it was enough for both of them to feel that subtle, warm sting beneath the ribs.

The conversation flowed on, lighter now, more natural. They talked about little things—music, motorcycles, how much Claire hated cooking, and how Leon had tried to make spaghetti the other day only to end up ordering pizza.

They laughed.

Really laughed—freely, genuinely, as if for a fleeting moment they had both forgotten the weight that had been hanging over them these past days.

And yet, despite it all, Claire couldn’t quite relax.

That feeling lingered at the back of her mind—
that faint, nagging sense that something was following her. That someone was watching.

She didn’t want to think about it.

Not now. Not while she was with him.

She took a sip of her coffee, focusing on the sunset that was now painting the sky in shades of orange.

Leon was staring ahead too, his hand resting on the bench, just beside hers. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin.

When their fingers brushed—accidentally, again—they both froze. Claire smiled faintly, trying to hide her embarrassment. Leon cleared his throat, as if to say something, but the words caught in his throat.

“Sorry.” he muttered softly.

“For what?” she asked, amused.

“I don’t know. Maybe... for not knowing what to say.”

“Sometimes there’s no need to say anything.” she replied, looking straight into his eyes.

And for a moment, everything went still.
The rustle of the trees, the laughter of children, even the murmur of the water—all of it faded away, leaving only that gaze.

Golden twilight began to settle over the park.
The sky burned with shades of pink and amber.

Claire’s eyes shifted toward the path leading into the trees—and she froze. In the shadow, just beyond the row of bushes, something moved.

Barely perceptible.

As if someone had stepped back. Her heart tightened in her chest. She squinted, trying to see more—but there was nothing.

A shadow. Just a shadow.

“Claire?” Leon looked at her, concern flickering in his voice. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, quickly turning her eyes back to the sunset. “Just... think the sun got in my eyes.”

She glanced again, but the spot was empty now.
No one there.

And yet, the feeling returned—that same cold, crawling sense she had felt in the night.

That someone was watching.

She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

It’s nothing. It’s just a shadow.

Leon glanced at her sideways. He could tell something was bothering her. Even if she tried to hide it, he could see it in the way her fingers clenched around the cup, in the faint tremor of her breath.

But he didn’t press.

He didn’t want to scare her away.

He was afraid that if he did, she might shut him out completely.

He watched her as she gazed toward the fading light. In that golden glow, the sun’s last rays lit her face, and when he looked closer, he could see the faint freckles on her skin, the soft shimmer in her eyes.

“You know...” Claire spoke softly, almost a whisper. “Sometimes I think all this... feels like a dream.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The way everything turns out. How life can change from one day to the next. Not long ago I was on the road, and now I’m here. With you.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Leon smiled faintly.

“No. That’s the thing—it’s good. And a little terrifying, all at once.”

He met her gaze.

There was gentleness in his eyes—but also a trace of uncertainty.

He held her gaze.

A soft smile, barely there, but real.

And that moment—their eyes meeting again—lasted longer than it should have.

Claire felt her heartbeat quicken. She wasn’t sure if it was from fear... or something else entirely.

The sunset gave way to evening. City lights flickered to life in the distance. Leon leaned back slightly, his shoulder brushing hers. Claire rested her head against the bench, eyes half-closed.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward.

It was good.

The kind of silence where words were unnecessary—because everything was already understood.

***

The air smelled of wet earth and freshly cut grass. Night had wrapped Raccoon City in soft darkness, and the streets around the park gleamed beneath the amber glow of streetlights.

Claire and Leon walked side by side, their steps echoing softly on the pavement. Between them lingered that easy silence—not empty, but full of something new, fragile, and unspoken. The kind of silence where you could hear your own heartbeat a little too clearly.

“Haven’t seen a sunset like that in a long time.” Claire said at last, glancing up at the starlit sky.

“Yeah.” Leon smiled faintly. “Can’t even remember the last time I just... stopped to look at it.”

“You? Stopping?” she teased with a quiet laugh. “I don’t buy it.”

“Well, even a cop’s gotta rest sometimes.” he replied, feigning seriousness. “Even if it’s just half an hour between shifts.”

She laughed again, and for a while, that sound filled the night air. The warmth of the evening slowly gave way to the cool touch of the coming night.

Leon kept glancing behind them, though. That feeling again. That something wasn’t right. Something had moved in the dark.

He didn’t want to tell Claire—not after how tense she’d been earlier. No need to give her another reason to worry.But with every step, the feeling grew stronger.Quiet, irrational, yet persistent—like a chill brushing the back of his neck.

He caught a flicker of movement across the street.
A glint—maybe a cigarette, maybe just light on glass. He stopped for a heartbeat, peering into the dark, but when he looked again, there was nothing.

Probably just nerves, he told himself. Or maybe the echo of his thoughts—the fear that something was happening around Claire, something he didn’t yet understand.

If she noticed, she didn’t show it. Or she was very good at pretending. She was talking about her motorcycle now—about how Chris had tried to teach her to fix it when she was a teenager.

“...and I ended up spilling oil all over the garage.” she said with a laugh. “Chris made me clean it all up for a week, so I’d remember that precision is everything.”

“Sounds like him.” Leon chuckled.

“Oh, definitely. Back then I thought he was torturing me. But now...” she shrugged. “Now I’m glad. I can fix almost anything on my own.”

“Looks like you’re more self-sufficient than half the people I know. And that makes you... pretty amazing.”

Claire parted her lips to say something—but froze for a second, caught off guard. Her breath hitched softly, her eyes sparkling with something unspoken.

Leon looked at her, and she looked back.
That one simple line had changed the air between them—left something hanging, something neither dared to name.

As they reached the next corner, the Redfield house came into view—a small building with a garden, quiet and familiar. A light still glowed in the upstairs window.

Claire looked at it with a hint of tenderness. Home had always meant safety to her. But lately... that feeling wasn’t so certain anymore.

“Thanks for walking me home.” she said, stopping by the gate. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Leon replied simply.

“You’re a nice guy, Leon Kennedy.”

“I try.” he smiled. “Besides, it’s a good excuse to spend a little more time with you.”

She laughed softly, the sound light and warm, scattering the weight that had been hanging in the air.

For a moment, they just stood there by the gate. The wind rustled the leaves, and the lamplight painted soft golden patches on their faces.

Leon still felt it—that quiet unease. The sense of being watched. The shadow that vanished just before he could be sure it was ever there.

But looking at her now—her calm face, her eyes filled with warmth—he pushed it aside.

He didn’t want to frighten her.

“Well... goodnight, Claire.” he said softly, taking a step back.

“Goodnight, Leon. And... thank you. For everything.”

She smiled. And before he could react, she did something he didn’t expect—she hugged him.

Not tightly, not for long.

Just... gently, with gratitude and a quiet affection that needed no words.

For a moment, Leon stood frozen.

Then slowly, he wrapped his arms around her.

The scent of her hair—sweet and faint, like a mix of gasoline and shampoo—filled his senses.

His heart beat faster.

Claire pulled away first, a little shy, and he just smiled.

Neither of them said another word.

From the upstairs window, Chris Redfield raised an eyebrow as he watched. He wasn’t the panicking type—but the sight of his sister hugging a young cop made his jaw tighten ever so slightly.

“Kennedy... oh, come on.” he muttered to himself, stepping away from the window.

Claire slipped inside, quietly closing the door behind her. She hadn’t even taken off her jacket when Chris appeared in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Well, well, well...” he began in that tone she knew all too well. “Did my little sister have... evening company tonight?”

“Chris, don’t start.”

“I’m not starting. Just asking.” he said, feigning innocence. “I saw you through the window.”

“Are you spying on people now?” she raised a brow.

“Only the ones who show up outside my house after dark.”

“It was Leon.” Claire rolled her eyes.

“I know it was Leon.” Chris stepped closer, pointing a finger at her.

“Seriously? You’re doing this again?”

“I’m not. I just—” he hesitated for a second, then sighed. “I just don’t want you ending up with a broken heart again, okay?”

“Chris, we were just talking.” Claire said with a mix of irritation and affection.

“Yeah, I know. But I saw the way you were talking.”

“You’re impossible.” she said, brushing past him toward the kitchen. “Not every guy who talks to me is planning to marry me.”

“Maybe not.” he muttered, following her. “But most of them look at you like they’d want to. Just... be careful, okay? Kennedy’s a good kid, but I don’t want you to—”

“I know.” She cut him off gently, meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to worry.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“Alright.” he finally said with a small nod. “But seriously, if anything—”

“I know.” She smiled softly. “I’ll let you know.”

***

Leon walked toward his apartment, hands buried in his pockets, head slightly bowed.

The street was empty.

The only sounds were the whisper of wind through the trees and the echo of his own footsteps.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Claire—her laughter, her gaze, the warmth of her hand. That feeling, quietly taking root in him since the first time they met, was beginning to grow—inevitably.

But beneath it all, there was also a shadow of guilt.

Chris.

Chris, for whom Claire was the whole world. The one who had made it perfectly clear that Leon should keep his distance.

Great, Leon. Just great.

Leon drew a deep breath and kept walking.
Yet with every block, his thoughts drifted back to her.

To her laughter. To the way she said his name. To that smile—cautious, as if she hadn’t had a reason to smile in a long time.

He didn’t know yet where all of this was leading. But one thing he did know—he wanted to protect her. Not because she was Chris’s sister. Not because he felt obligated.

But because there was something about her... something that made it impossible for him to do anything else.

Chapter Text

The clock in the hallway ticked with stubborn regularity, as if every second in this building had its own echo. Leon sat at his desk, turning a pen in his hand. The sheet before him—a report he should have finished long ago—remained blank.

His thoughts wandered.

Not to the paperwork, not to his duties. They kept circling back to last night.

To Claire.

To the way she laughed when she told him how Chris had made her clean out the garage. To the sunlight glinting in her hair, to the warmth of her hand brushing his when they both reached for the same coffee mug.

And to that moment—that fleeting instant—when something moved in the bushes.

A shadow.

A shape.

Nothing clear, but enough to make his heart beat faster. Maybe it had just been a squirrel. Or a cat. But his instincts, sharpened by weeks in the field, told him otherwise.

Someone had been watching them.

And Claire felt it too. He could see it in her.

With a sigh, he set the pen down and rubbed his face with his hand. He couldn’t focus. Every sound—the creak of a chair, the shuffle of papers—seemed too loud, too intrusive.

Then, from across the room, Chris Redfield walked past—composed as always, in his black T-shirt and tactical pants. His posture, as ever, said it all: no chaos, no emotion showing on the surface.

“Ken­nedy.” he said dryly, stopping beside Leon’s desk.

Leon looked up, straightening almost automatically.

“Chris.”

Chris leaned against the nearby desk, arms crossed, regarding him with that calm, analytical gaze he was known for.

“Remember the last time we talked about my sister?” he began, his tone surprisingly gentle.

“Yeah, I remember.” Leon felt a tightness in his stomach.

Chris nodded, as if confirming to himself that he’d heard right.

“I said a few things that might’ve sounded… let’s say, a bit harsh.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Leon interrupted quickly. “I get where you were coming from.”

Chris raised an eyebrow.

“Do you?”

“Yeah. She’s your sister. I’d probably react the same way.”

For a moment, silence settled between them. Somewhere in the background, a cabinet slammed; someone else was typing. But in that brief pause between them, the air grew heavier.

Chris studied Leon’s face, his composure more intimidating than any outburst.

“You know.” he said slowly, “I saw you two outside the house yesterday.”

Leon froze, then cleared his throat.

“Yeah. I walked her home.”

“I know.” Chris nodded. “And I don’t have a problem with that. Really.”

“You don’t?” Leon frowned, surprised by his tone.

Chris shrugged.

“Look, I’m not a monster. Claire’s an adult. She can see whoever she wants.” He smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed cold, alert. “Just… if things were ever to go beyond that, I’d like you to be aware of something.”

“Of what exactly?” Leon asked cautiously.

Chris leaned in slightly, his voice quieter now.

“Claire’s not someone you can hurt and just walk away from, Kennedy.” His tone was calm, but there was steel beneath it. “I know she looks strong. She is strong. But that doesn’t mean everything rolls off her.”

“I know. And I would never—” Leon began.

“I know.” Chris cut in, straightening. “I just wanted to say it out loud.”

Leon exhaled, feeling some of the tension leave him—only for it to return again. There was something else he couldn’t shake.

“Chris…” he started, his voice turning serious. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“I’m listening.” Redfield said, eyes sharp.

Leon hesitated for a moment.

“Yesterday, when I walked Claire home… I think someone was following us.”

“Following you?” Chris’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening.

“Yeah. I’m not sure if it was anyone specific, or maybe just my imagination, but…” Leon took a breath. “I saw something in the bushes across the street. A shadow. Movement. Nothing clear, but… it didn’t look like an animal.”

Chris was silent for a moment. His expression didn’t show surprise or fear—just focus.

“Did Claire say anything?” he asked finally.

“No. But she was tense.” Leon rubbed the back of his neck, trying to make sense of it. “She kept glancing around, you know, like someone who feels they’re being watched but doesn’t want it to show.”

Chris’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave a small nod, as if connecting dots in his mind.

“I see.”

Leon studied him, trying to read his face.

But Chris was, as always, unreadable.

Calm. Cold.

“You think it was someone from town?” Leon asked. “Maybe a drifter, someone hanging around the park?”

“Could be.” Chris said in a tone that neither confirmed nor denied. “Or something else.”

“Something else?” Leon frowned.

Chris looked away, as if unwilling to let him see what he was thinking.

“Raccoon City has a way of attracting strange people. You know that. I’ll look into it.”

When Redfield disappeared down the hall, his face had turned completely serious. He entered the S.T.A.R.S. office and shut the door behind him. Leaning against his desk, he stood in silence for a long moment.

What Leon had said didn’t surprise him.

Not entirely.

It was more like confirmation—of something he’d already begun to suspect. He closed his eyes for a second, taking a slow breath. He didn’t want to panic. He couldn’t afford to.

But if someone really had been watching them… if someone had been near his house—that meant things were starting to shift.

On the outside, he looked as he always did—calm, steady, unshakable. But inside, something had begun to stir. He wasn’t sure if it was anger or unease.

He only knew one thing: he wouldn’t let anyone get close to his sister.

Someone had been near his home. Someone had been watching them. And he was going to find out who.

Something more than just a shadow in the bushes.

Something already lurking in the city’s dark corners.

***

The sky above the city had taken on the color of spilled copper. The setting sun reflected off the windows of the precinct, spilling golden light across the metallic surfaces of the cars parked outside. The air was heavy, carrying that familiar Raccoon City mix of exhaust and dampness.

Chris was the first to leave the building, a bag slung over his shoulder, his face more closed off than usual. Behind him walked Jill Valentine, in her classic navy-blue uniform, with that easy smile and the kind of look that could disarm even him—on days when he forgot how to guard himself.

“Hey.” she said lightly, with the kind of casual grace that came naturally to her. “Closing up the day again, huh?”

“Someone’s got to.” he replied dryly, not looking at her.

They stepped through the doors, and a cool wind brushed their faces. Jill tucked back a strand of hair the breeze had caught and glanced at him sidelong. Chris looked tired. Not physically—that was nothing new—but in the way that suggested something inside him had been slowly unraveling for days.

They walked down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. For a while, there was only the sound of their footsteps and the faint screech of tires somewhere in the distance.

Jill frowned.

“Okay.” she broke the silence. “Something’s off.”

“What do you mean?” Chris gave her a brief look.

“I mean you’ve had that face all morning—the one you wear when you’re trying to solve the mystery of existence.” she said with a small smile. “And your nothing’s wrong is always code for too much is wrong.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away, toward nothing.

“It’s about Claire, isn’t it?” she asked quietly but with certainty.

“How do you know?” His step slowed for a moment.

“I know you, Redfield.” Her tone held no accusation, only a soft thread of concern. “When something’s up with your sister, you get that exact look. The one you’ve got right now.”

He said nothing. They passed a row of cars until they stopped beside his truck. Chris exhaled, leaned against the vehicle, crossed his arms, and stared at the ground as if searching for the right words.

Jill moved closer—close enough to reach him, but not close enough to make him retreat.

She waited.

“You know Claire met with Leon yesterday.” he said at last.

“With Kennedy?” Jill raised a brow.

“Yeah.”

Her smile was faint, maybe even a little amused.

“And that worries you?”

“A little.” he admitted. “But that’s not the point.”

He looked at her, and in his eyes she saw something she hadn’t in a long time—not uncertainty, but something closer to helplessness.

“Leon told me today they thought someone was following them.”

“Following them?” Jill’s voice instantly turned serious.

Chris nodded.

“That’s what he said. He wasn’t sure, but… he mentioned that Claire seemed tense. Kept looking around, like she could feel something.”

Jill crossed her arms, her brows knitting in thought.

“You think it’s just coincidence?”

“I don’t know.” Chris said quietly. “But I’ve had this feeling for days—that something isn’t right.”

The wind stirred again, catching a strand of her hair. Chris glanced at her out of habit—the kind of glance he used when he needed to break from his own thoughts. The sunlight reflected in her dark-blue eyes—cool, but with that spark that could break through even his walls.

He realized he was staring too long. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“Claire’s… different lately.” he said after a moment. “Quiet. Distracted. Sometimes she changes the subject when I ask what’s going on.”

Jill bit her lip, thinking.

“Maybe she’s hiding something—but not necessarily something bad. Maybe she just doesn’t want to worry you.”

“Claire’s never hidden anything from me.” he replied instantly. “If she is now… it means something’s wrong.”

Jill sighed, shaking her head.

“You’ve got that same tone you always get when you’re trying to prove you’re right—even about the weather.”

Chris gave the faintest smile, then sobered again.

“Jill, if someone really was following her…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. She understood.

She stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was light, but it was enough to make the tension in him shift.

“I’ll help you look into it.” she said calmly. “Not because we’re on the same team. But because it’s Claire.”

Their eyes met. There were no grand gestures, no words—but for a fleeting moment, the world around them went still. The noise of the city faded, leaving only the two of them.

Chris felt his heartbeat falter, slightly off-rhythm.

“Jill…” he began, but stopped, unsure what he meant to say.

“I know.” she said with a small smile, as if she’d already read his thoughts. “You don’t have to explain.”

He looked at her again.

The wind brushed through her hair, and she tucked a strand behind her ear in a gesture so natural, so unguarded, it felt oddly intimate.

He caught himself noticing it again.

And again, he had to look away—to hide the faint trace of a smile. They started walking together toward Jill’s car.

“Got any leads?” she asked, opening the door.

“No. But I found something by the garden this morning.”

“Something?”

“A footprint. At the edge of the yard. Fresh.”

“Whoever it was must’ve come pretty close.” Jill frowned.

“That’s why I want to check it out myself.” Chris said. “I don’t want Claire to know.”

“Because she’ll be scared?”

“Because she’ll shut down even more.”

Jill leaned against the car roof, looking at him from the side.

“Sometimes, Chris, your protection is the biggest wall you build between you and her.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, surprised.

“I mean you try to shield her from everything. But sometimes all she needs is for you to just talk to her—without all that soldier armor you carry around.”

Her tone was calm, but her words hit home. Chris was silent for a while, then nodded.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I always am.” she said with a spark in her eye.

He chuckled softly—the first real laugh of the day. It lightened the air between them, as if a weight had slipped off his shoulders.

“Thanks.” he said after a moment.

“For what?”

“For always managing to set me straight.”

“Someone has to.” She smiled.

Their eyes met again.

No longer than a second, but long enough for his heart to skip a beat. In her gaze there was something—not just concern. Something warmer, deeper, something neither of them was ready to name.

A moment later, they walked together toward the service lot. The sun was dipping lower, painting their faces in soft gold. Jill was saying something about evening plans, about a new restaurant that had just opened on Main Street. Chris listened—or pretended to—while Leon’s words still echoed in his mind.

They were followed. Claire was tense.

Those two lines kept looping in his head.

But when he looked at Jill—standing beside him with that smile that could drive away any darkness—he thought that maybe not everything in this world was heavy. That there were still moments capable of bringing calm. They stopped by her car, and Jill opened the driver’s door.

“Tomorrow after shift, we can swing by your place and take a look around.” she offered. “See if we find anything else.”

“Good idea.” he agreed. “But this time I’m driving.”

“No way.” She grinned. “Remember how our last ride ended?”

“That wasn’t my fault.” he muttered, with a faint smile.

“Sure, Redfield. And I’m Miss Raccoon City.”

He laughed—a short, genuine sound that softened her expression for just a moment.

“That did you some good.” she said quietly.

“What did?”

“The smile.”

He froze. Their eyes met again—this time, longer.
The air between them grew denser—not uncomfortably so, but… familiarly.

Warm.

And when their gazes crossed in the twilight, the world disappeared for a second.

Then Jill blinked and looked away.

“All right, Redfield. Tomorrow at nine. And don’t forget the coffee this time.”

“Right. Milk, no sugar?”

“See? You do know me.”

She slipped into the car, and he stood there for a moment, watching as she drove off. The glow of her taillights faded around the corner. He was left alone—with the quiet world and the weight of his thoughts.

But for the first time that day, he felt something else too—a trace of peace.

Not because the problem was gone.

But because he knew he didn’t have to face it alone.

Chapter Text

The air in the archive smelled of dust, old paper, and the past. When Claire crossed the threshold, the sound of her footsteps echoed against the stone floor. Tall shelves stood in perfect rows, stretching into what felt like infinity—silent, heavy, as though they themselves guarded the city’s secrets.

The woman behind the counter looked up from behind her glasses.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, her tone flat with routine indifference.

“Articles about missing womans.” Claire replied, trying to keep her voice light. “From the last few years.”

The employee nodded, slowly rose from her chair, and pointed toward the corridor on the left.

“Criminal section. Cabinets fourteen through eighteen.”

“Thank you.” Claire said with a polite smile, though something inside her felt uneasy.

She couldn’t yet tell whether it was simple nerves—or the lingering echo of that night when she’d seen a shadow by the tree outside her window.

She walked between the rows. The fluorescent lights flickered faintly, as if the old wiring had had enough. At the end of the corridor, there was only the soft rustle of paper and the slow, rhythmic ticking of a clock.

She found the right cabinet. The metal doors creaked open in protest, as if resenting her intrusion into forgotten matters. She pulled out several folders and carried them to the nearest table. Spread them out.

Then she began to read.

One after another.

A Raccoon University student has gone missing. Last seen near the subway station.

Young woman vanishes without a trace — police have no leads.

Family appeals for help. Investigation suspended.

Each article carried the same tone: sorrow, no answers, silence. No one had seen anything. No one had heard anything.

After a few months—the cases were closed.

She marked the dates in her notebook and quietly took a few photos with her phone. She knew she shouldn’t. But something in her told her it wasn’t a coincidence.

She slid another folder aside. And then—out of the corner of her eye—she saw a shadow. At the end of the aisle, between two shelves. A flicker of darkness, as if someone had passed by and vanished around the corner.

She froze.

Held her breath. Listened.

Nothing.

Only the distant hum of the lights and the breath of the city beyond the windows.

For a moment she sat perfectly still, then sighed and shook her head.

“Stop it, Claire,” she whispered to herself. “It’s just your imagination.”

She went back to reading.

But the longer she sat there, the stronger the feeling grew—that she wasn’t alone. Every so often she thought she saw movement far off, a shadow gliding across the floor. When she glanced over her shoulder, there was nothing—only empty aisles, rows of shelves, and the cold gleam of the lights on metal.

Finally, she gathered her things and began packing up her notes. She had no intention of staying until closing.

Before leaving the section, she glanced once more toward that same spot.

And again—the same motion.

A shadow. A figure?

She couldn’t be sure.

The heavy doors of the archive closed behind her, and the evening air struck her face. For a moment, it felt like relief. But only for a moment.

The air was cooler, but it didn’t bring comfort. Claire walked through the city center. The sun was dipping low, and the traffic noise was giving way to the calm of dusk.

For a while she walked in silence, phone in hand, scrolling through the photos she’d taken in the archive. Until something caught her attention.

A reflection in a shop window—someone was walking behind her. Not close—maybe thirty meters back—but keeping her pace, step for step.

She stopped by a kiosk, pretending to browse the newspapers. In the glass she saw him: a man in a dark coat, standing on the corner. Too still to be a passerby.

Her heartbeat quickened.

She took a slow breath and started walking again, this time turning down a side street. She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to show she’d noticed.

But when she turned another corner and caught a glimpse in the café window—he was still there. Her fingers tightened around her bag strap. She walked faster.

She didn’t run. Not yet. If someone was really following her—she needed to stay calm.

One simple plan formed in her head. Call Chris. Don’t say too much. She pulled out her phone, fingers trembling as she found the number.

“Chris?” her voice came out steady, though inside she was a wire drawn too tight.

“Claire? What’s going on?” he asked.

“No…” she hesitated. “I just... could you come pick me up? I’m downtown. You know, near the old library.”

“Sure.” his tone changed immediately—alert, cautious. He could hear it in her voice, that something wasn’t right. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just... tired.”

“Give me a minute.”

She hung up.

Looked behind her.

The figure was still there.

This time she turned fully—but when she looked, there was no one. The street was empty.

Not long after, a familiar car pulled up at the intersection. Chris got out, shoulders tense in that protective way that was almost habit. He scanned the street before approaching her.

“Hey, Claire-bear.” he smiled faintly. “Something wrong?”

“No, I just... spent too long at the archive.” she said, slipping her hands into her jacket pockets. “Didn’t feel like walking home.”

“Claire, you never call me for no reason.” his eyes searched her face.

“This time I did.” she forced a small smile.

She climbed into the car; he followed. The engine rumbled to life, and they pulled away. Silence filled the space between them—broken only by the hum of the motor and the whisper of tires on asphalt.

Chris kept glancing at her. She sat turned toward the window, but her fingers toyed nervously with the zipper on her bag. He knew that gesture too well.

“I talked to Leon today.”

“Chris, I’m an adult. I can meet whoever I want,” she said, eyes fixed on the windshield.

“I know you’re an adult. And you know I’ll always think no guy’s good enough for you. But that’s not it... Leon said he felt like someone was following you.” he said it calmly, eyes still on the road.

Claire stiffened. That one sentence was enough to make her breath catch.

“Really?” she asked after a moment, feigning surprise.

“Yeah.” his tone stayed even, but his gaze tracked every flicker of her expression. “He said you looked tense.”

“You’re both overreacting. It’s nothing. Just coincidence.” Claire blinked.

“Coincidence?” he repeated. “Claire, don’t pretend nothing’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.” she said too quickly.

Chris said nothing for a moment. Staring ahead, his jaw flexed—the telltale sign he was keeping his temper in check.

“You know you can tell me if something’s wrong.” he said quietly at last.

“I know.” her voice was soft, but tired.

She didn’t look at him. Instead, she stared at the city lights outside, stretching into long, blurred streaks.

She knew Chris saw more than she wanted him to.
But she couldn’t tell him.

Not now.

She didn’t want him slipping back into that protector mode.

Didn’t want him locking her away for her own safety.

So she sat in silence, feeling his gaze fall on her from time to time—then retreat, as if he wanted to say something but held it back.

At last, they reached home.

Chris killed the engine.

“You sure everything’s okay?” he asked without turning.

“Yes, Chris. Really.” she smiled, that small, practiced warmth meant to calm him.

He looked at her longer than usual. He knew she was hiding something. But he also knew pressing her wouldn’t help.

“All right.” he said finally. “But if anything happens... you call me. Right away.”

“Okay.”

They got out. Night had already settled over Raccoon.

As they climbed the steps, Claire turned instinctively. The street lay empty. But she could’ve sworn something moved in the shadow between the trees.

She froze for a second, holding her breath. Then shook her head and walked on, convincing herself it was only the dark.

Inside, the warm light from the lamps brushed the walls with gold. Chris lingered by the door, checking the locks, while Claire set her bag down, sank onto the couch, and closed her eyes. Her thoughts were thick as fog—chaotic, frayed, filled with flashes of the archive, the old articles, and that feeling of being watched between the shelves.

She knew something had begun. That whoever had been a shadow until now—was getting closer.

And that there was no turning back.

***

The clock in the living room ticked steadily, as if counting down the moments to something inevitable. Outside, the wind stirred the leaves, and the moon spilled its silver light across the walls.

Chris slept restlessly. As though he could no longer truly rest. The last few days hadn’t allowed him a peaceful night.

Then he heard a sound — sharp, sudden, cutting through the silence. He opened his eyes instantly. Instinct acted before thought could follow. He sprang from the bed, grabbed the pistol from his nightstand, and moved down the stairs in a few soundless strides. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like electricity.

The living room was half-shrouded in shadow. Moonlight slipped through a cracked window, where shards of glass glittered on the floor like scattered diamonds.

Chris froze for a moment. His eyes swept from the broken pane to the garden beyond.

Silence. Only the faint ripple of a curtain, stirred by the wind.

He approached the window slowly, gun held low but ready. He opened the door to the terrace and stepped outside.

Cold air hit his face. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he scanned the surroundings, methodically, step by step — like on a mission.

Only the echo of his own steps on the damp grass and the distant rustle of trees.

“Chris?!” — Claire’s voice called from inside the house.

He turned instantly. She stood in the doorway, barefoot, in her pajamas — hair tousled, eyes wide open.

“Is everything okay?”

“Stay there!” he barked automatically, though the tone was more protective than commanding.

“What’s happening?” she asked, but didn’t listen. She stepped down two stairs, carefully avoiding the glass.

Chris returned inside after half a minute.

He’d found nothing.

“Someone threw a rock.” he said quietly. “But I didn’t see anyone.”

Claire’s eyes drifted to the shattered glass on the floor — then stopped on something lying in the middle of it: a heavy, oval stone wrapped in something pale.

“What is that…” she began, leaning closer, but Chris was faster.

“Don’t touch it ” he said sharply, grabbing her arm. “It could be evidence.”

She froze. There was something in his voice that made her heartbeat quicken.

Still alert, Chris went to the table. From a drawer, he pulled out latex gloves — he always had some on hand. Carefully, he lifted the stone.

The paper around it was tightly wrapped, as if someone had taken great care to make the message look… deliberate. He unrolled it. Flattened it.

For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared.

Red marker.

Thick letters.

Uneven, but clear.

DON’T LOOK ANY FURTHER, OR YOU’LL BE NEXT.

Silence.

Only their breathing.

“Chris… what does it say?” Claire asked, sensing that something was wrong.

“Nothing.” he said too quickly, folding the paper.

“Chris.” Her voice hardened. “What did it say?”

He looked at her — that familiar mix of determination and fear. He didn’t want her to see the message. But Claire was faster. Her hand darted forward, gripping the note. Their eyes met, and his grip loosened. He knew he couldn’t stop her from finding out. Sooner or later, she would have known anyway. She unfolded it.

As she read, her face went pale.

Chris set the paper aside immediately and moved closer, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Hey. Look at me.” his voice was low, calm, carrying authority. “You’re safe. Do you understand?”

Claire shook her head, trying to catch her breath.

“God…” he muttered, trying to steady his thoughts.

“But right now, what matters most is keeping you safe.”

“Someone knows I was looking into this.” she whispered. “At the archive… that shadow I saw—”

“Shhh.” he interrupted softly, pulling her closer. “We’ll handle it. I promise. I’ll call Jill.”

A few minutes later, headlights cut through the night as a car pulled up in front of the house. Jill Valentine stepped out — jeans, black jacket, and that trademark composure she brought wherever Chris began to lose control.

“What happened?”

“Someone threw a rock through the window.” Chris said, motioning toward the floor. “There was a note tied to it.”

“A note?”

“A threat.” He handed her a plastic evidence bag.

Jill examined it closely, her gaze hardening.

Don’t look any further, or you’ll be next… she read quietly.

“Claire was at the archives today. Digging into those disappearances... When she called me, I could hear it — she was scared. But she didn’t say why. And now...” Chris clenched his fists until his knuckles went white.

“That doesn’t sound like coincidence,” Jill said, resting a hand on his shoulder. Chris closed his eyes briefly, feeling the mix of rage and old instinct.

“If that bastard hurts her—”

“That’s not going to happen. We’ll protect her. We’ll find him.”

“How can I protect her if she won’t tell me anything?”

Silence settled between them. They went back inside. Jill immediately turned to Claire, who stood wrapped in a blanket, barefoot, eyes wide with shock.

“Claire, are you hurt?”

“No…” she replied, her voice trembling. “It’s just… it’s all happening so fast.”

Jill placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll take care of it. I promise.”

Chris knelt by the window, gathering shards of glass and securing the area. Every movement was methodical, professional — automatic. Jill helped him tape a sheet of plastic over the window.

“The throw came from close range.” she murmured. “Could’ve been from the street, maybe from behind the fence. A precise throw.”

“A professional?” Chris asked.

“No.” she shook her head. “More like someone… desperate. Maybe they just wanted to scare you. But the fact they knew where you live — that means something.”

“That’s not something, Jill.” Chris said, his voice tightening. “That’s someone.”

She looked at him seriously.

“Okay. Got it.” she straightened up. “I’ll run the prints, get someone from the lab here in the morning. For now… sleep with your gun close.”

“I already do.” Chris muttered, and despite the tension, Claire rolled her eyes.

“Good. Humor’s back.” Jill replied dryly, though her tone remained taut. She knew this was serious.

She turned to Claire.

“Hey.” her voice softened. “Chris may be stubborn as hell, but he cares about you more than anything. Don’t worry — we’ll get through this.”

Claire managed a small, grateful smile, though fear still flickered in her eyes.

“Thanks, Jill.”

Jill nodded, then faced Chris again.

Their gazes met for a moment — brief, intense, full of the things that didn’t need to be said aloud.

Outside, the moon drifted above the treetops. Somewhere in the distance, a faint sound — a branch, perhaps… or a step.

But one thing was certain — someone was watching them.

And it was only just beginning.

Chapter Text

The Redfield house was unnaturally quiet that morning. The sun crept shyly through the makeshift covering on the window, spilling pale light across the living room. Tiny shards of glass still glittered on the floor — remnants they hadn’t managed to clear away during the night.

Chris sat at the table, still wearing the same T-shirt he’d had on when he came downstairs after hearing the sound of breaking glass. He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t. Every noise, every whisper of wind at the door made his muscles tighten automatically.

On the table lay a piece of paper sealed inside a plastic bag. The red letters looked like a fresh wound. Don’t look any further, or you’ll be next. Next to it, in a plastic bag, lay a cigarette butt that Claire had taken from the kitchen cabinet.

Words that had carved themselves into his mind so deeply he could have written them from memory.

From the kitchen came the sound of the kettle. Jill, wearing his shirt — too big, sleeves rolled up — moved about calmly, as if by performing this simple act she could restore some sense of normalcy to the world. She made three cups of coffee.

“You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.” she said quietly, handing him one.

“Because I didn’t.” he replied dryly, taking a sip.

Jill raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t stay in combat mode forever, Chris. This isn’t a battlefield.”

“For me, any situation where my sister could be the target is a battlefield.” he said firmly. “I’m not backing off.”

She sat across from him. For a moment, she said nothing — just watched the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze stayed fixed on that note, as if he could destroy it by staring hard enough.

“Claire’s stronger than you think.” she said at last.

Chris lifted his eyes.

“I know she is. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need protection.”

“It doesn’t always work like that, Chris. Sometimes too much protection can make someone feel suffocated.” Jill rested her chin on her hand, studying him.

“Maybe. But I’m not taking any chances.”

Soft footsteps sounded on the stairs. Claire came down, sleepy, her hair a tousled mess she hadn’t bothered to brush. She looked fragile, but her eyes were alert — sharp.

She stopped at the kitchen doorway.

“Jill?” Her voice was soft, tinged with surprise. “You’re still here?”

“I stayed the night to help your brother.” Jill said with a warm smile. “Wasn’t about to leave you two alone after what happened.”

Claire nodded and sat at the table. For a moment, silence — thick, a little awkward. She glanced at the paper in the plastic bag but didn’t say a word.

Chris noticed. Every small movement, every bit of tension in her shoulders, every time she looked away — it all told him more than she ever would aloud.

“You don’t need to look at that.” he said calmly, sliding the bag aside. “We’ll handle it.”

“I know.” she said. “But it’s happening here. In our city.”

“Not ‘our.’” His tone hardened. “Yours. I’m only here until I find the bastard who did this.”

“Chris…” she began, but Jill placed a hand on hers.

“Hey, don’t start that again.” Jill said gently. “You’re both right, in your own way. But now you’ve got to think smart.”

Claire looked at her with quiet gratitude.

“Thanks, Jill.”

“Anytime.” Jill smiled faintly. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Say that to her again — maybe she’ll actually listen,” Chris muttered.

“Was that supposed to be funny?” Claire shot him a look.

“You know I’m right.” he said evenly. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think this was a random threat. But I do know you. And I know you won’t stop digging — not even after something like this.”

“Because someone has to.” she said, her voice hardening. “Someone has to find out what’s happening to those people, Chris.”

Silence. Chris looked to Jill — she only shrugged, as if to say I told you she’s like that.

“See?” she said with a faint smile. “As stubborn as you.”

“That’s not something to be proud of.”

“Maybe it is.” Jill said, lifting her cup. “It’s people like you two that keep this city standing.”

Claire gave a quiet laugh — her first that morning.
It was small, genuine, and for a moment, it broke the tension. Chris looked at his sister and felt something like relief — brief, but real.

After breakfast, Jill and Chris went down to the living room to secure the rest of the evidence. Claire stayed in the kitchen, but she could hear their voices through the wall.

“The stone was thrown from outside, from that distance.” Chris said. “The impact suggests someone strong. Probably a man.”

“Look at the marks near the window.” Jill said, crouching by the frame. “Boots — larger size, heavy soles.”

“Military?”

“Or industrial.” she replied. “But whoever it was, they knew what they were doing. Hardly left a trace.”

Chris leaned against the wall, arms folded.

“You think it’s the same person who was watching her before?”

“All signs point to it.” Jill said, looking up.

Their eyes met. There was tension there — not just professional. Jill could see him fighting his emotions, his brotherly instinct clashing with his rational side as an officer.

“You know.” she said softly, “The way you’re acting… it’s not just concern. You’re scared.”

Chris said nothing for a while. Then he exhaled heavily.

“Claire’s all I’ve got left. After our parents, after everything… If something happened to her—” He closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“She’s not going to get hurt.” Jill laid her hand on his arm.

He looked at her — just a fraction of a second, but enough. Warmth in her eyes, that glimmer of something he couldn’t name. It wasn’t about words — it was about certainty.

“Thanks, Jill.” he said quietly.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she replied with a faint smile — and didn’t look away.

In the kitchen, Claire pretended to focus on washing dishes, but her hands trembled slightly. She knew they were talking about her — and that knowledge gnawed at her. She didn’t want to be a burden.

At last, she set the cup down, dried her hands, and stepped into the living room.

“If you’ve got something to say about me, say it to my face.” she said evenly.

Jill and Chris exchanged a glance.

“Claire, that’s not what this is—”

“It’s exactly what this is.” she interrupted. “Since last night, you’ve both been treating me like I’m made of glass.”

“Someone tried to threaten you, Claire!” Chris snapped. “This isn’t a game!”

“I know, Chris!” she shouted back. “But you can’t keep me under lock and key! You can’t protect me from everything!”

“When it comes to your safety, I can.”

Jill took a deep breath.

“Hey, hey…” she stepped between them. “Let’s all take it down a notch, okay?”

Neither spoke — the tension could be cut with a knife. At last, Claire turned and walked back upstairs.

“That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” Chris muttered, staring at the floor.

“You can’t control everything, Chris.” Jill sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I can try.”

“Not how your sister feels.” she said quietly. “You know her fear’s growing with every day. We need to act before it breaks her.”

Chris nodded.

“I know. It’s just…” he gave her a faint smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d drown in paperwork, like always.” Jill said with a shrug.

He chuckled — the first real laugh in hours. That sound — genuine, fleeting — made Jill smile, too.

By afternoon, Claire came back downstairs. The silence between her and Chris was heavy. She sat across from him, resting her hands on the table.

“Chris…” she began carefully. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said calmly. “I just need you to understand — I’m not your enemy.”

“I know.” She smiled faintly. “But I can’t just sit around doing nothing.”

“And I can’t sit calmly when someone’s threatening my sister.” he replied.

“You two are impossible.” Jill said, shaking her head.

Claire and Chris exchanged a glance — then almost at the same time, they both laughed. The laughter softened, melted into warmth that filled the room. It didn’t solve anything, but for a moment, it reminded them that they were still a family.

That evening, Jill was getting ready to leave. Chris walked her to the door.

“Thanks for everything.” he said quietly.

“Always.” she replied, pulling on her jacket. “And Chris…” — she hesitated — “if anything else happens, don’t pretend it’s nothing.”

“Sure.”

She was about to go, but turned back.

“And try to get some sleep.”

“You too.” he said with a small smile.

When Jill left, Chris stood alone in the hallway. From upstairs came the soft sound of Claire’s footsteps. He sighed, ran a hand over his face, and looked toward the broken window.

Beyond the glass — darkness.

This time calm. Seemingly quiet.

***

That kind of silence hung in the air — not peaceful, but expectant. A silence where every second seemed to be hiding something. The window had been temporarily patched up, and on the table lay an evidence bag with a stone inside — the very one that had shattered the glass during the night, leaving behind more than just shards.

Leon stood at the door for a long moment before knocking. Not out of hesitation, but necessity — he needed to gather his thoughts. He didn’t know what exactly he would say, how Claire would react, or if she would even let him in.

At last, he knocked. Chris opened the door — tired, yet alert as ever. His face held something between gratitude and suspicion.

“Leon.” His voice was low, rough from sleeplessness. “I already know you’ve heard.”

Leon nodded.

“I got the reports. I just wanted to… check how Claire’s holding up.”

Chris didn’t answer right away. He looked Leon in the eyes for a long second, then sighed and stepped aside.

“She’s in the living room. But go easy. It’s been a long night.”

“Of course.” Leon nodded gratefully.

He stepped inside. The living room smelled faintly of fresh coffee, though the cup on the table was barely touched. Claire sat on the couch, wearing his favorite hoodie, legs tucked under her. A blanket rested on her knees — more a shield than a source of warmth.

When she heard footsteps, she lifted her head. Her eyes were tired, yet they caught the afternoon light like glass.

“Leon.” Her voice was soft, but there was a note of relief in it.

“Hey.” He smiled faintly — that small, slightly shy smile that did more than he intended. “Can I?”

“Sure.” She gestured to the space beside her. “Sit.”

He did, leaving a careful gap between them — that fragile distance that somehow crackled with everything unspoken. For a moment, neither said a word. Leon’s gaze wandered around the room — the taped-up glass, the scattered bits of debris.

“I heard someone threw a rock.” he said finally.

“Yeah.” Claire nodded. “Around midnight.”

“And…?”

“And they left a message.” Her tone was even, but her eyes told another story. “Chris didn’t want me to see it. But I did.”

Leon went quiet. He studied her, as though trying to gauge how much pain she could hide behind composure.

“Claire…” he began, then stopped. “You realize you could’ve been killed?”

“I know.” She met his gaze. “But I couldn’t just ignore it.”

“Ignore what?”

“The disappearances.” She drew a deep breath. “I started digging, Leon — old articles, archived notes, anything I could find. That’s when it all began. The cigarettes in the yard, the shadow in the records room… and now this.”

Leon leaned in a little.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I thought I was overreacting.” She shrugged. “And besides… I didn’t want Chris treating me like a child again.”

“Claire.” He said her name in a way that made it sound like more than just a word. “This isn’t overreacting. Someone’s watching you.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched between them. Leon glanced at her hands — clenched tightly around the blanket, knuckles white. At last, he reached out and brushed his fingers gently against hers.

“Hey.” he said softly. “Breathe.”

Claire looked up, startled, but didn’t pull away. Their eyes met.

For a second.

For eternity.

“I’m trying.” she whispered.

Leon gave a faint smile.

“Good. Because, you know…” he hesitated, “When you’re stressed, you frown so hard it looks like you could kill someone with just a look.”

“Really?” Claire let out a quiet, nervous laugh — but it was genuine.

“Really.” His tone was light, but his eyes were full of concern.

“Well. I can’t promise I’ll stop.”

“That’s fine.” Leon shrugged. “It’s part of your charm.”

She blushed, trying to hide it.

“And your charm is saying things like that at the worst possible time.”

“I know.” He chuckled softly. “But it works, doesn’t it?”

Claire rolled her eyes, but a faint smile touched her lips. For a brief moment, the room felt warmer again.

Leon leaned forward slightly.

“Claire… listen, you have to let us handle this. You and Chris are in real danger.”

“I know, Leon.” Her voice was calm but resolute. “But I can’t just walk away. Someone has to find out what’s happening to those people.”

“And you want me to…?” He raised an eyebrow.

She hesitated before answering.

“To check the police archives. Old case files from the past few months. Maybe something was overlooked.”

“You know it’s not that simple.” Leon looked at her with quiet concern.

“I know.” she nodded. “But I also know that if anyone can do it discreetly… it’s you.”

Their eyes met again. There was a plea in hers — but also something more.

Faith.

Trust.

“You’re good at this, you know?” Leon sighed.

“At what?”

“Looking at me like that… until I start doing stupid things.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Sounds like one.”

She smiled faintly, but fatigue lingered in her eyes. Leon noticed — he always noticed.

“Claire.” he said softly. “Get some rest. Please. You can’t carry all this on your own.”

“I’m not.” Her voice was quiet now. “I have you… and Chris.”

The words hung between them — too honest to dismiss. Leon felt his throat tighten. He wanted to speak, but no words came.

Instead, he simply nodded.

“All right. I’ll check those files. Quietly.”

“I knew I could count on you.” Claire smiled, gratitude softening her face.

“Just promise me one thing.” Leon said, returning the smile.

“What?”

“That if anything happens — anything at all — you’ll call. Don’t pretend you’re fine.”

“I promise.”

Moments later, footsteps echoed from the stairs — Chris, coming down. Leon rose to his feet.

“I should get going.”

“Thanks for coming.” Claire said, looking up at him.

“Always.” he replied softly.

As he passed Chris in the hallway, the man gave him a sharp, measuring look. Leon only nodded — nothing needed to be said. Chris didn’t reply.

The door closed behind him with a quiet click.

Claire sat for a while longer on the couch, staring at the untouched cup of coffee. A faint smile lingered on her lips — the kind that comes only when someone gives you a little hope.

But in her eyes, a shadow still lingered.

Because she knew this was only the beginning.

Leon walked slowly back toward the station. His mind was a storm of thoughts, but they all circled back to one image — Claire, sitting on that couch, strength and fear mingling in her eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

And somewhere nearby, in a narrow alley, someone lit a cigarette.

Watching Leon’s car drive away — as if they already knew exactly where it was headed.