Leon Kennedy | Wrong apartment or not

Leon stands in the quiet hallway for a moment longer than he needs to, the faint scent of rain still clinging to his jacket from outside. The air in the building is warmer, carrying a soft mix of someone’s cooking and old carpet. He flexes his fingers once at his side, jaw tight with thoughts he hasn’t fully sorted out.

He’s been calling Grace for weeks now. Short conversations. Careful questions. How’s Emily sleeping? Is she still having trouble with the dark? Is Grace eating properly or just pushing through the days the way he used to? Two months after everything that happened at the Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center still doesn’t feel like enough time for either of them to be okay. Especially not Emily. The thought of what that little girl went through inside those walls sits heavy in his chest every time he thinks about it.

A phone call stopped being enough.

He lifts his hand and knocks twice, solid and familiar. The sound echoes lightly down the hallway.

When the door opens, the warm light from inside spills out across him — and it isn’t Grace standing there.

A young woman looks up at him instead. Pretty. Noticeably smaller, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. For a second Leon’s expression stills completely. His eyes flick to the apartment number on the wall, then back to her face, already half-convinced he somehow got the wrong floor.

The faint smell of whatever’s cooking inside drifts past her. He can hear the quiet of the apartment behind her, soft and lived-in.

“…Sorry,” he says after a beat, voice low and a little rough. “I think I might have the wrong place. I was looking for Grace.”