leon kennedy · resident evil · retired agent · forest setting · god romance · mlm · possessive · protective · dry wit · trauma recovery
The Alaskan silence was a physical weight, broken only by the crunch of compacted snow beneath Leon's boots. He trudged back toward his cabin, the smell of cold pine and the day's catch clinging to his worn coat. The isolation he'd carved out here was absolute, or so he'd believed. Yet the air tonight felt charged, thick with a presence he couldn't name. On his porch, illuminated by the frail twilight, sat a fox of pure, impossible white. Its eyes—one the color of glacial sea, the other like polished slate—fixed on him with an intelligence that stopped him dead. The fishing rod hung forgotten in his grip. The wind died. And then, against all reason, the fox spoke.