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Late afternoon spilled lazily over the town, as if the world had suddenly remembered that it knew how to be normal. The sun still hung high, pouring gold over the pale façades of houses and the calm surface of the sea. The air smelled of salt, citrus, and something sweet—almost indecently carefree. Claire sat on the terrace of a small hotel, barefoot, her legs tucked up on the chair, wearing a light dress that fluttered in the breeze. She held a glass of lemonade in her hand but had completely forgotten about it, gazing ahead with that rare, soft smile that appeared only when she truly felt safe.
“I still can’t believe this is happening.” she said quietly, more to herself than to anyone else.
Leon stepped out of the hotel room a moment later. He wore a plain t-shirt and jeans—no holster, no jacket, nothing to suggest that his everyday life usually involved running toward danger. He carried two towels in his hand.
“What exactly?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “That we’ve got a month without alarms, or that the waiter actually brought me decaf coffee?”
Claire snorted softly.
“That we’re here. Together. Without the world ending every five minutes.”
Leon sat down beside her and handed her a towel. Their shoulders brushed lightly. Naturally. As if it had always been that way.
“The world doesn’t end.” he said calmly. “Sometimes it just… takes loud breaks.”
She looked at him from under her lashes. She knew that tone—half joke, half truth, everything else buried deep under control.
“Don’t analyze. It's a lut honeymoon. Remember?” she nudged him with her elbow. “Zero existential philosophy.”
“Sorry.” he raised his hands in surrender. “Agent mode suspended.”
For a while they sat in silence, listening to gulls and the sound of waves. Claire rested her head on his shoulder. Leon stiffened for a fraction of a second, instinctively, then relaxed and leaned his cheek against her hair. That scent. Ordinary shampoo, sunlight, something uniquely hers. No blood. No smoke.
“It’s perfect.” she said softly.
Leon didn’t answer right away. His gaze wandered along the horizon, as if automatically checking escape routes, potential threats. Then he sighed and allowed himself the luxury of the moment.
“It is.” he admitted.
Evening arrived gently. Dinner by candlelight, laughter, memories told half in jest, as if they were talking about someone else’s life, not their own. Claire talked about motorcycle routes she wanted to ride someday. Leon listened carefully, memorizing every detail, even though he pretended it was no big deal. When the waiter brought dessert, Leon noticed the sound of sirens somewhere in the distance. Too far away to worry about. Too quiet to ignore.
“Do you hear that?” he asked casually.
Claire shrugged.
“Probably drills. Or local police. Don’t ruin the mood.”
“Of course.” Leon said dryly. “Because nothing says romantic seaside town like distant sirens.”
He smiled crookedly but nodded. He promised himself that for one evening he wouldn’t be Leon Kennedy, survivor of Raccoon City. He would be a husband on vacation.
Maybe an hour passed before something changed.
First there was a scream. A single, sharp cry, cut off abruptly, as if someone had muted the sound. Claire lifted her head from her glass.
“Leon…”
“I heard it.”
“Please tell me that’s just a very dramatic tourist.”
He stood immediately. He didn’t run. Not yet. He scanned the area, looking for the source. On the street several dozen meters away, someone stumbled and fell. Someone else bent over them. Too long. Too unnaturally.
“These aren’t drills.” Leon said quietly.
Claire was already on her feet. Her face hardened in that familiar way. Calm mixed with readiness.
“Let’s go back to the room.”
He didn’t argue. They moved quickly, but without panic. The hotel lobby was chaos. Someone was shouting in a foreign language, someone else was crying. The doors burst open and a man stumbled inside with his arm torn open. Blood dripped onto the marble floor.
“No… someone help me…” he babbled.
Claire took a step toward him, but Leon grabbed her wrist.
“We should really stop going on trips.” Claire muttered. “Bad things follow us.”
“Claire.”
The man lifted his head. His eyes were cloudy. His jaw moved unnaturally. He lunged forward.
“Damn it.” Claire hissed.
"Great, we can't even have a normal honeymoon."
Leon shoved her behind him. Instinct. Pure, brutal.
“The room. Now.”
They slammed the door behind them a few minutes later. Claire leaned against it, breathing fast but steady.
“Tell me that was a hallucination.”
“Worst travel review ever.” Leon said. “Zero stars.”
Leon was already rummaging through the suitcase. From a false bottom he pulled out a handgun. Then another. And magazines.
Claire exhaled slowly.
“Nothing says honeymoon like hidden firearms.”
“You know I don’t lie.”
“I know.” she rubbed her face with her hands. “It’s just… seriously? Now?”
Leon looked at her with a hint of amusement.
“I told you the world takes loud breaks.”
Silence fell. From outside came the sounds of breaking glass and screams. Claire walked over to the bed and sat down heavily.
“We were supposed to go for a walk on the beach tonight.” she said quietly. “No weapons. No contingency plans.”
Leon stepped closer and crouched in front of her.
“Hey.” he touched her knee. “It’s still a honeymoon. Just… the version we know.”
She let out a short, nervous laugh.
“We’re the unluckiest couple in the world.”
“Or the most prepared.”
She looked into his eyes. There was something there she knew all too well. Readiness. Responsibility. And a care he never tried to hide.
“Leon…” she began.
“I know.” he said, standing up. “I didn’t want this either.”
For a moment they stood facing each other, suspended between two worlds—the one where they were on vacation, and the one that was once again demanding its price.
A dull thud echoed from the corridor. The door to the neighboring room shook in its frame.
“Do we have any options?” Claire asked.
Leon checked the weapon mechanically.
“Evacuation via the port. But first we have to get out of here.”
“As always.”
He smiled briefly.
“As always.”
“I miss vacations that don’t involve an exit strategy.” Claire said flatly.
He stepped closer and handed her the pistol. Their fingers brushed. The spark wasn’t romantic. It was electric. Tense.
“Ready?” he asked.
Claire stood and racked the slide in one smooth motion.
“I was born ready.”
Leon nodded. He glanced once more at the door, behind which the world was falling apart again.
“Reload.” he said calmly.
The click of the magazine sounded almost intimate in the silence.
And they moved.