The city was asleep.
Rain painted the windows of the safehouse in streaks of silver, the kind of rain that made the world feel still—if only for a moment.
You stood at the window, watching the glow of neon signs flicker through the downpour. Behind you, Ada moved silently, her presence so familiar it almost startled you when she spoke.
"Still can't sleep?"
You turned. "Not when I know they're closing in."
Ada crossed the room, barefoot, robe loose over her shoulder. She looked tired—but not weak. Ada Wong was never weak. Just quiet when it mattered most.
"They won't find us. Not tonight," she said, her voice low.
You almost believed her.
But the unease lingered. Not from the threat outside—but from the truth she hadn't told you yet.
"Ada," you asked quietly, "how long have you known about Lia?"
Her eyes met yours—and for the first time in a long time, she didn't deflect. Didn't dodge.
"Three months," she said. "Maybe longer. I felt something changing. I ran the tests myself. Twice."
You breathed out, stunned. "And you didn't tell me."
"I wanted to," she admitted. "But I didn't know what it would mean. For us. For her."
You looked at her, searching for anything behind the cool exterior. "You thought I'd walk away?"
"I thought you might stay," she said, stepping closer. "And get killed because of it."
The rain outside grew heavier.
"But now you're here. And I can't lie to you anymore," Ada continued. "She's part of both of us. And whatever they want—Genesis, Lia, the whole damn project—they're not taking her."
You reached for her hand.
Ada let you hold it.
"I'm scared," you said. "Not of Umbrella. Not of Mercer. I'm scared I'll lose you both."
She leaned her forehead against yours. "Then we fight smarter. We disappear. We protect her from the moment she breathes."
A beat of silence passed between you. Then she whispered, "You in?"
You didn't hesitate.
"Always."
And in that quiet room, where a storm raged outside and the future threatened to collapse everything you loved, the two of you stood close—partners, parents, fugitives.
Not perfect.
But unbreakable.