Until Your Last Breath
The air was thick with silence, except for the distant sounds of groaning creatures lurking just outside the abandoned safe house. The single flickering lantern cast soft shadows along the cracked walls, painting fleeting pictures of two people caught in a battle they could never truly win.
Ada sat across from me, her usual poised, unreadable expression faltering for the first time since I’d known her. She was gripping her gun a little too tightly, but I pretended not to notice.
"How long do you think I have?" I asked, breaking the quiet.
She didn’t answer right away. That was Ada—always calculating, always searching for an exit, even when there wasn’t one. Finally, her lips parted. "A few hours, maybe less."
I nodded, exhaling through my nose. "Guess that means we’re having one last conversation, huh?"
Her greyish eyes flicked up to meet mine, something unreadable swirling in them. Regret? No. Ada Wong didn’t do regret. But this—this was something close.
"You should rest," she said instead.
I smiled weakly. "Kinda hard to nap when you know you won’t wake up the same."
Ada’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, she looked away.
I shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of the infection curling through my veins like fire. My fingers twitched involuntarily, a warning sign of what was to come. My time was running out.
"You know," I murmured, resting my head back against the wall, "if I had more time, I think I’d take you out on a real date."
Ada blinked, caught off guard. "A date?"
I smirked. "Yeah. You know, something normal. No running from monsters, no last-minute escapes. Just us. Maybe some overpriced cocktails and bad music."
A small, breathy chuckle escaped her lips—so soft I almost missed it.
"That doesn’t sound like me," she murmured.
"It could," I countered. "If you let it."
She didn’t respond to that, but her fingers twitched in her lap. For Ada, that was as good as admitting I had a point.
The infection pulsed again, and I winced, biting back a groan.
Ada was on me in an instant, kneeling at my side, her gloved hand ghosting over my cheek, hesitant, careful. "It’s getting worse."
I forced a shaky smile. "Yeah."
She didn’t move away. She didn’t speak. She just.. stayed there, holding me in a way she never had before.
"I’m not scared," I whispered. "Not of dying."
Her throat bobbed, but she remained silent.
"I’m scared of making you do this."
Ada closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, and I swore I saw a crack in the armour she had spent so long building.
"You’re not making me do anything," she said softly. "I’m choosing to be here. Until the very end."
My chest tightened, though I wasn’t sure if it was from emotion or the infection spreading deeper.
"You should hate me for this," I joked weakly.
Ada exhaled through her nose. "Idiot."
I smiled. "Yeah. But I’m your idiot."
For the first time, Ada let her guard fall completely. She leaned in, pressing the softest, most bittersweet kiss against my forehead. Her lips lingered there for a second longer than necessary, as if memorizing the feeling before it was gone forever.
"I’ll make it quick," she murmured against my skin.
"I know," I whispered back.
Ada held the gun steady, her fingers wrapped tightly around the grip.
I could barely see her through the haze, my vision blurring as the infection consumed the last parts of me that were still human. My body no longer felt like my own—something else was taking over, something monstrous.
I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to meet her eyes one last time. "Do it," I whispered.
For the first time in my life, I saw hesitation in Ada Wong.
But only for a second.
The gunshot echoed through the empty room.
A sharp pain bloomed in my chest—then nothing. Just cold. Just silence.
Ada exhaled shakily, lowering the gun, her shoulders tense as she took a step closer. My body lay still, my face peaceful, as if I had simply fallen asleep.
She knelt beside me, brushing her gloved fingers against my cheek, a touch that was unbearably gentle compared to the violence of moments before.
A tremble ran through her, but she swallowed it down. She always did.
"I'm sorry, love," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "You deserved better than this."
She let her hand linger for just a moment before pulling away, standing up, masking every ounce of pain behind that unreadable expression.
Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving behind the one thing she couldn’t save.