This was the hardest chapter I've written so far.
Getting the tone, the decisions, and the characters right here took a lot more work than I expected, so I hope it landed the way it was meant to.
If you have any ideas, suggestions, or even small details you think could work better moving forward, I'd really like to hear them. Your feedback genuinely helps shape the story.
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The gun shop was dark from the outside.
Boards across the windows, done properly — not panic-work, the kind you do when you have time and tools and the intent to stay. A light inside, barely visible at the edges. Leon checked the door, the angles, the street in both directions.
Nothing moving close enough to matter.
He stepped up to the door and knocked twice. Short. Even.
Waited.
Nothing.
He raised his hand again—
"Don't," Ada said.
He stopped.
She moved past him to the door. Checked the frame, the lock, the wear around the keyhole. Pulled something small from her jacket. Two metallic clicks, precise and quiet, and the lock disengaged.
Leon looked at her.
She pushed the door open and stepped back.
He went in first. Gun up. The interior resolved in pieces — dim battery lamp on the counter, weapons racked and accessible, barricades at the windows. The smell of gun oil and sawdust. No movement.
He cleared the corners. Checked behind the counter. Nodded the others through.
Ben moved to the shelving. Ada positioned near the window.
The girl stayed back, just inside the room. Still. Watching.
Leon moved toward the back—
"Don't move."
Low. Controlled. Not a shout — the kind of voice that didn't need volume to hold a room.
Leon stopped. Then turned.
Robert Kendo was already there.
Rifle up. Steady. Set where it needed to be, angle chosen, finger ready.
He hadn't just arrived.
He'd been watching.
His eyes moved across them. Leon. Ben. Ada — he held on her a beat longer than the others, something noted and set aside.
"Start talking," he said.
"We're not staying out there," Leon said.
"Then you picked the wrong place." The rifle didn't move. "You want to explain why you're pulling supplies out of my shop?"
Leon didn't answer that.
A small sound broke the room.
A shell casing rolled underfoot. Metal on wood — short, sharp.
The girl had shifted her weight.
That was when Kendo saw her.
His focus snapped.
The rifle moved.
Not much — but enough. The angle shifting off Leon, drifting toward her.
Leon didn't move.
Ada did.
Not fast. Not loud. Just there — gun up, sightline clean on Kendo.
The room tightened.
Kendo held it a second.
Looking at the girl now. Properly.
Then she saw her. Not just a kid. The state of her. Something in Ada checked itself. The aim shifted. Lower. Held.
His jaw tightened.
"…she with you?" he said.
"Not your problem," Leon said.
"Everything in here is my problem." The edge had gone out of it, just a fraction. "You want to explain what you brought into my shop?"
"We're not staying out there."
Kendo didn't answer.
He was still looking at the girl.
The way she stood.
Quiet.
Wrong.
The rifle dipped. Just a degree.
"Door stays closed," he said. "You don't make noise. You don't touch anything without asking."
Leon nodded once.
Kendo lowered the rifle. Not fully. Just enough.
"Get away from the window," he said.
Ada was already there.
"Take what you need and get out," Kendo said. Hard. "You don't stay."
Leon didn't move.
"I'm trying to help."
That set him off.
"Help?" The word hit sharp, louder than anything he'd said so far. "You walk in here in that uniform and talk about helping?"
A step forward.
"You see what's out there? You hear it? That's what help looks like."
"I showed up tonight," Leon said. "I went straight to the station and it was already—" He stopped himself. "I don't know everything yet. But I'm not walking away from people."
"People?" Kendo shot back. "There's no one left."
His voice broke higher than he meant it to.
And that did it.
"Daddy…?"
Everything stopped.
Kendo turned immediately. "Emma—" His voice caught, then came back harder. "I told you to stay inside."
She stood a few steps into the room.
Barefoot. Too thin. The skin at her face and arms had gone pale in a way that wasn't just fear. Dried blood at her sleeve, dark against the fabric. Her breathing came shallow, uneven.
"But you were yelling," she said.
Ada's hand moved.
The gun came up—
Then stopped.
She was looking at Emma now. The pallor, the blood at the sleeve, the shallow uneven breathing. The way she was still standing through all of it.
The aim shifted. Lower. Held.
Kendo moved in front of Emma without thinking. Blocking the line.
"It's fine," he said. Quieter now, but tight. "Go back."
Emma didn't.
Her eyes moved past him. Toward Leon. Toward the girl beside him.
Leon exhaled slowly.
"I'm not lying to you," he said. "We've got a way out. Sewers. It's not clean, but it's something. You don't have to stay here."
Kendo didn't answer.
"Leon Kennedy."
"Robert Kendo."
Silence held.
Kendo didn't look away from Emma.
Leon let it sit.
Then—
"Meryl," he said.
That got Kendo's attention. Not much. Just enough.
Leon kept it steady. "Lieutenant's daughter?"
Kendo looked at him now. Measuring. Not answering.
Leon nodded once, like confirming it to himself. "He was still there when I got in," he said. "Holding it together."
A beat.
"He didn't make it."
Kendo didn't react right away.
Leon didn't push it. "Last thing I heard was a name." Another beat. "Meryl." A pause. "And this place."
A small sound behind the counter.
Not loud. Just movement.
Leon saw her first.
A girl. Standing just out of sight until now. Watching.
Kendo turned. Not fast. "Stay there," he said. Lower than before.
She didn't.
She stepped forward. Slow. Eyes on Leon.
"You saw him?" Small voice. Trying to keep it steady.
She looked at him.
Waiting.
Leon opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
"…yeah," he said.
Quiet. Not soft. Not cold. Just true.
That was enough.
Meryl broke.
Not loud at first. Then she couldn't hold it.
Kendo moved immediately. "Hey — hey." He pulled her in, one hand at the back of her head. "It's alright."
Not true. Didn't matter.
She held onto him, crying into his shirt. He didn't look at Leon. Didn't say anything else. Just held her there until it passed enough to breathe.
Then, without looking up:
"There's clothes in the back."
Ada didn't move immediately when the girl reached for her sleeve.
The same small grip as before — fingers at the fabric, not clinging. Ada looked at it for a moment.
Then took her hand.
They went to the back together, past the doorway where Kendo's voice was still low and steady above the sound of crying that was finally, gradually, beginning to ease.
Ada shut the door behind them.
No words.
She worked. Clothes first — efficient, no wasted motion. She checked the fit without asking, adjusted what needed adjusting, moved on.
Then the arm.
She cleaned around the bite, rewrapped it, and was moving to set it aside when she stopped.
Her hand hovered.
She turned the arm slightly. Better light.
Marks.
Old ones first — faint, almost absorbed. Then newer. Then the pattern of them, which was what held her.
Needle entries. Clean lines. Repeated. Spaced with the regularity of something done on a schedule, by someone who knew what they were doing and had been doing it long enough not to think about placement anymore.
Cuts alongside them. Not accidental. Controlled. Measured.
Ada didn't move for a moment.
Neither of them said anything.
Ada set the arm down. Finished. Stood.
Filed it — somewhere behind the sunglasses, behind the expression that hadn't changed — and turned back to what came next.
Emma was already bad.
Not collapsing — but close enough that you could see where it was going. Her breathing dragged. Too shallow, too fast. She leaned against the wall with Kendo beside her, one hand locked at her side like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Meryl stayed close. Didn't speak.
The door opened.
Leon was still with Kendo. Meryl quieter now, pressed against his side.
The girl stopped in the doorway.
Found Emma.
Then went to Leon — fingers at his sleeve, not pulling. Just there.
"Leon."
He looked down.
She pointed toward Emma. Small movement. Then touched her own arm — the wound — and held it there.
He frowned.
Looked at the arm. At Emma. Back at her.
"…what are you—"
She did it again. Slower. Like she was trying to make something clear to someone who wasn't keeping up.
Leon stood there with it for a moment.
Kendo had seen it too. "No," he said. Quiet but immediate. "Whatever you're thinking — no."
"Just — wait," Leon said.
"I'm not waiting. That's my daughter."
"I know."
"Then you know the answer."
Leon exhaled. Looked at the girl again. At the arm she was still holding out, patient in the way she was always patient, not pushing, just — present with the offer.
"She was like this before," he said. "When I found her. Already bitten. Already bad." He stopped. Tried again. "I thought she was gone."
Kendo didn't move.
"She didn't turn," Leon said.
A beat.
"And when Marvin — the Lieutenant — when he was dying." He stopped. The word sat wrong in his mouth, the way it had since the ladder. "He was infected. Hours in. Further gone than Emma." He looked at Kendo. "She helped him. I don't know how. I don't know what it does or why it works. But he held on longer than he should have."
Kendo looked at him for a long moment.
"You don't know," he said.
"No."
"You're guessing."
Leon didn't argue it. "Yeah," he said. "But I'm guessing based on what I saw. And what I saw was that it slowed it down."
Silence settled.
Kendo looked at Emma. At the shallow uneven pull of her breathing. At the color in her face that had been wrong for hours and was getting worse in increments small enough to almost ignore.
"…what if it doesn't work," he said.
Leon didn't have an answer for that.
Kendo knew he didn't.
He stood there for a long time. Not moving. Not speaking. Just watching Emma breathe and doing the math that fathers do when there are no good options left and someone is asking them to choose between the ones that remain.
Ada spoke.
Still across the room. Not moving toward them.
"Do nothing," she said, "and you know how it ends."
Kendo didn't look at her.
"You try it — you might buy time." A beat. "Not fix it. Not save her." Another beat. "But time."
Silence.
Kendo looked at Emma
Then he closed his eyes for a second.
"Do it," he said.
Not permission.
Surrender.
Leon pulled the knife. The girl watched him — not the knife, him — and when he took her wrist she didn't pull away, didn't tense, just let him make the cut. Small. Clean.
She didn't react.
Blood welled. Dark. Wrong in the way it always was.
"Easy," Kendo said. He'd moved closer to Emma without seeming to decide to. Hand on her shoulder. Right there.
Leon guided the girl's wrist forward. Slow. Controlled.
Emma didn't respond at first.
Then something in her did — below the surface, something older than thought finding something it recognized. She leaned. Slow. Her lips found the cut.
Kendo didn't look away.
He forced himself not to.
A few seconds. Leon counted them without meaning to.
He pulled her back. Pressed cloth to the cut and held it.
Emma sagged slightly.
Then — breath.
A real one. Deeper than the ones before it.
Another.
Kendo leaned in. His hand moved to her face. "Hey — hey, look at me—"
She breathed again.
He let out something that wasn't quite a sound. Not relief. Not quite. Just — the specific exhale of someone who has been braced for the worst and found out they don't have to absorb it yet.
"…okay," he said. "Okay."
He said it twice. Like it needed saying twice to be true.
Leon didn't move.
Across the room Meryl had gone completely still. Watching Emma. Watching Kendo. Watching the girl.
The girl stepped back. Went to Leon. Same place as always — shoulder at his arm, not leaning, just there.
He looked down at her.
At the cut.
At the blood.
He thought about Lieutenant.
Don't lose it. That's what gets people through.
He looked at Kendo. At Emma still breathing. At Meryl watching from across the room. At Ben against the wall, not saying anything, just there.
Then back down at her.
"He told me not to lose hope," he said quietly. "Said it was the only thing that gets people through."
A beat.
"You just gave some to all of them."
Another beat. Quieter now.
"…Hope."
Leon waited a second.
"…you got a better one?"
Nothing.
He nodded once.
"Hope it is."
Kendo didn't hear it. He was holding Emma now, face pressed into her hair, one hand at the back of her head, saying nothing because there was nothing left to say.
Ada had watched all of it from across the room.
She didn't speak.
Looked away only when she'd seen enough.
A sound cut through it.
Distant.
Sharp.
Gunfire.
Leon's head came up.
Another shot.
Closer this time.
He looked at Ada.
She was already looking at him.
"Station," he said.
She didn't answer.