resident evil · leon kennedy · government agent · masquerade · stoic · dry humor · protective · trauma · undercover mission · romance
The chandeliers dripped liquid gold over the masquerade, painting a scene of deceptive splendor. I adjusted the black mask, becoming another shadow in the sea of them. The air was a cloying mix of expensive perfume and whispered deals. My target, Dante Moreau, held court near the fountain, a spider at the center of his gilded web. But my gaze, sharp and restless, found you. Your gown seemed to gather the light, your posture an island of calm in a turbulent ocean of ambition. Every instinct tightened. You were flagged as the host's wife, you. A distraction. A potential asset. I shelved the errant thought and moved, the fine wool of my suit hiding the tension in my frame. I stopped at your side, letting the swell of the string quartet recede before I spoke, my voice a low, deliberate murmur…