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After Raccoon City was wiped off the map, Ada Wong continued living in the shadows of secret missions for many long years. She took on countless dangerous contracts, from Europe to Asia, always alone, always vigilant, always keeping her distance from anything called a “normal life.” That is, until everything gradually changed, and now, five years later, after completing yet another contract, Ada once again gets to return home.
The helicopter landed gently at the private airfield hidden among the mountains and forests, a place known only to those in the underworld. Ada stepped out, her wine-red catsuit now wrinkled and covered in dust. Her body ached from days of relentless travel, combat, and careful calculation. But now, in her mind, there was only one thought—going home.
The sleek black Bentley Continental GT is already waiting. Ada slides into the driver’s seat, her fingers lightly brushing the premium leather steering wheel—a familiar sensation that helps calm her somewhat. She drives away from the airstrip, cruising along deserted highways in the dead of night, heading toward her secluded villa on the outskirts of the city—a property no official record lists in her name. She acquired it through multiple layers of intermediaries, with the sole beneficiary registered under a code rather than her real name. Only one Swiss lawyer knows the code that leads back to Ada, and he is handsomely paid to keep silent.
Despite her exhaustion, Ada does not skip the habit she formed three years ago. She turns onto a familiar narrow street and stops in front of the small flower shop named "L'Éternel." Warm golden light still spills from the windows even though it’s nearly 2 a.m. The elderly French owner is polishing the glass counter, his silver hair and neatly trimmed mustache as impeccable as always. He looks up and offers a warm smile upon recognizing Ada.
"Bonsoir, mademoiselle Wong," he says in his deep, soothing voice. "Still the deep red roses? The finest ones, specially ordered from a garden in Provence."
Ada nods, the corner of her mouth curving slightly in a rare half-smile. "As always, monsieur. And… the card, please."
He smiles knowingly, pulling a small cream-colored card from the drawer. Ada takes the fountain pen he offers and writes a brief line in her elegant, sharp handwriting:
* For you, my love. – A *
He tucks the card discreetly among the blooms, tying it securely beneath the red ribbon so it will only be visible when the recipient lifts the bouquet. "Someone must be very happy when you bring flowers home," he says softly.
Ada says nothing, only offers a faint smile before paying. She takes the bouquet in her hands and steps out of the shop, the glass door closing gently behind her. Standing under the dim streetlight, Ada gazes at the deep red roses releasing their sweet fragrance, and suddenly memories from three years ago flood back as vividly as if they happened yesterday.
It was another late night, after a short but high-risk mission. For the first time, Ada had stopped at "L'Éternel" and bought flowers for no strategic reason at all. She entered the house with the red roses in hand, her heart beating strangely fast. Claire was sitting in the living room reading a book. She looked up in surprise when Ada returned earlier than expected—and even more surprised at the sight of the flowers.
Claire stood, her blue eyes wide. "Flowers… why are you giving me flowers?"
Ada could only shrug, trying to keep her usual detached tone. "Just felt like it."
Claire didn’t press further. She paused for a moment, then broke into a smile—a genuine, happy smile that made her eyes curve and her cheeks flush faintly. She accepted the bouquet, cradling it gently against her chest, and whispered, "Thank you," so softly Ada almost missed it.
In that moment, watching Claire’s smile, Ada felt something she never thought she would: a warm, tender feeling that tightened her chest—not from danger or calculation, but from pure happiness. It was something the old Ada Wong had always considered a luxury, a weakness, something that could never belong to her.
The memory fades as the night breeze brushes past. Ada smiles softly, carefully places the bouquet on the passenger seat, and continues driving. Claire’s image becomes crystal clear in her mind: the warm smile, the clear blue eyes, the unconditional patience despite knowing how dangerous Ada’s work is. All the fatigue and tension from the recent mission gradually melt away.
Twenty minutes later, the Bentley glides through the automatic iron gate. The villa emerges under the soft golden garden lights—modern architecture with classic touches, surrounded by reinforced glass, the infinity pool shimmering under the moonlight. Ada parks in the garage, turns off the engine, takes a deep breath, and enters through the side door.
Inside, everything is quiet except for the steady ticking of the wall clock. Ada removes her jacket, hangs it up, still holding the bouquet tightly. She walks lightly across the warm wooden floor, having already changed from high heels into house slippers. The faint scent of the herbal tea Claire often brews still lingers in the air.
And then she sees her.
Claire Redfield is curled up on the wide living-room sofa, a thin blanket draped loosely over her. Her head rests on a stack of TerraSave documents—recent reports on biohazard outbreaks, some pages folded and marked with pencil notes. She had probably intended to stay awake waiting for Ada after the message yesterday: "I’ll be back tomorrow." But sleep won in the end, making her usually strong face look utterly peaceful and endearing.
Ada stands silently at the doorway for a long while, not rushing forward. She simply gazes at Claire sleeping, her eyes slowly tracing every feature of the woman who has changed her entire life.
The delicate eyebrows slightly furrowed as if dreaming of something worrisome. Long lashes fluttering gently with each breath. The straight bridge of her nose, the slightly parted lips as if about to speak in her dream. Soft brown hair falling messily over her cheek.
And then an even older memory surfaces — the first time they met.
Raccoon City, 1998.
Smoke and fire everywhere, the growls of zombies, the thick stench of death filling the air. Ada was perched on a railing, observing from above as a young woman in a red jacket, handgun in hand, shot down a zombie while running toward her.
Claire Redfield—barely nineteen then, her face still carrying the innocence of a college student, yet those blue eyes already burning with determination and courage as she searched for her brother. She looked up at Ada and called out, "Who are you? Working for Umbrella?"
Ada clearly remembers her enigmatic smile and calm reply: "Not exactly. But if you want to survive, you’d better trust me—just this once."
Claire’s face was smeared with dirt and sweat, but her eyes shone brightly, unafraid. That was the first time Ada felt something strange stir in her heart—not love at first sight, but quiet admiration for someone willing to plunge into hell just to find family.
From potential enemies to reluctant allies, then chance encounters over the years—each time amid fire and blood. Yet that face, those eyes, had slowly seeped into Ada’s cold world, cracking the stone heart she had built around herself for so long.
Now, seeing Claire sleeping peacefully on their sofa—no guns, no zombies, no running for their lives—Ada feels her chest tighten. From the brave young girl in the hell of Raccoon City to the woman waiting here for her return, Claire is still Claire. Only now, she has become Ada’s home.
Ada gently places the bouquet on the coffee table—exactly where Claire will see it first thing tomorrow morning—then sits beside the sofa. She lightly brushes a strand of brown hair from Claire’s cheek and whispers, "I’m home, my love."
Claire stirs slightly in her sleep, a subconscious smile appearing as if sensing the familiar presence.
Ada can’t bear to let Claire sleep on the sofa all night. She carefully slides one arm under Claire’s knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly—despite Claire’s weight, Ada does it smoothly, as if it’s a familiar motion. Claire only shifts a little, resting her head against Ada’s shoulder, breathing steadily, still fast asleep.
Ada walks slowly up the wooden stairs, avoiding the slightest noise. Entering the master bedroom—a spacious room with a large bed, thick curtains blocking the moonlight, the gentle scent of the scented candles Claire likes to use. She lays Claire down carefully, tucks the blanket around her, then leans in to place a long, tender kiss on her forehead.
Claire murmurs something in her dream but doesn’t wake.
Ada straightens up, removes her outer clothes, changes into comfortable sleepwear, and slips into bed beside her. She naturally pulls Claire into her arms, feeling the warmth of her loved one spread through her. For the first time in a week filled with sleepless nights and tense moments during the mission, Ada feels her body completely relax. No more vigilance, no more calculations—just absolute peace.
She closes her eyes, tightening her arms slightly around Claire, and drifts into the deepest, most restful sleep she’s had in a very long time.