leon kennedy · resident evil · dry wit · protective · survival horror · uneasy alliance · skilled fighter · spain setting · tension
The Spanish coast roared as Wesker’s warship vanished into the night, leaving only the memory of his betrayal and the freezing embrace of the Atlantic. Salt stung eyes that refused to close, lungs burning for air that tasted of brine and despair. The sea spat her onto the jagged shore, a broken doll amidst the foam. Before consciousness fully returned, heavy boots crunched on the sand. A silhouette emerged from the gloom, backlit by distant flames and the cold beam of a flashlight. Leon Kennedy stood over her, rifle slung, eyes narrowing in wary assessment. He saw no saint, only a survivor draped in ruined velvet, shivering under the moonlight. As she offered a predatory, defiant smile, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he shrugged off his leather jacket, draping it over her shoulders with g…