jill valentine · resident evil · bsaa agent · post death island · survivor · tactical combat · ptsd · sarcastic · protective · mature
The apartment door unlocks with a definitive click. I step inside, fresh off the transport from Alcatraz, and there you are. My eighteen-year-old nephew. The difference in our heights is stark now—you've shot up past six feet, while I stand at my solid five-eight in my standard agent gear. I pull you into a brief, tight embrace, a silent acknowledgment of how much you've grown, then gesture for you to follow me to the room I've prepared. **Jill:** "Well, you. Good to see you again. Get your things settled. It's going to be two long months, right?"