Echoes of Despair

Natasha then raised a hesitant foot… the faint rasp of her boot on the highly polished floor ripping through the silence like a naked admission. Every echo grounded her in the moment, a bitter reminder that she existed, facing yesterday's ghosts. She crept along, cautiously, as if making her way through a half-remembered dream. Her gaze wandered over the bedspread, the curtains sweeping across the floor, the vanity littered with small, private mementos—each frozen, untouched, held in exact stillness.

And then—the soft, wet squelch beneath her foot.

She stood still, her eyes snapping downwards as if some unseen hand had whipped her eyes to the floor. Her chest constricted painfully, every breath shallow, ragged, as if the air itself had increased in weight, closing over her like a slow, inexorable fist across her ribs. The room's serenity—so dull, so humdrum—betrayed itself by a tiny, nearly imperceptible detail, something recognized by her mind immediately even before the heart could follow. Familiarity crashed into nostalgia, sorrow, and a flicker of something else, something darker, something she couldn't identify, leaving her hanging between remembrance and terror. Her limbs would not respond to her, would not move, could not even take a full breath. But her eyes remained fast, caught in a tight, cruel tension that ate at her from within.

A raw, shaking cry ripped from her throat, a gasp that contorted into a strangled, raw scream. "B-Blo… Blood…"

The shriek shattered the silence. The others turned, drawn to her by instinct in that instant. Nova's hands came down firmly on her shoulders, holding her steady as her fear threatened to overwhelm her. "Natasha! What—what happened?"

But Natasha did not reply. Her eyes stretched wide, pupils flashing and trembling, fixed on some unseen terror. The room closed in around her, each pulse booming louder in her ears.

Leon's movements were calculated, serene, but every step weighed with keen instinct. His golden eyes saw the change in the air, the hidden warning deeply rooted in her fear, and the spark of fierce sharpness danced there. "Stay back," he growled, low, steady, almost a growl, as he shoved the hood off his face.

He stepped forward, purposefully, each of his boots thudding against the marble floor with a hollow, resonating power. The noise pierced the air, cutting through silence like a knife. Each step weighed more heavily on the burden of fear, as if the very air put on bulk, strangling every intake of breath, pulling the moment into slow motion.

Leon moved around the bed and stopped.

Time breathed with him.

For one long, impossible second, no one breathed. No one dared. The air they believed they knew, the world beyond the door, disappeared. All that was left was the suffocating weight of what stood before him, and the way the room seemed to throb with a silent, deadly threat.

His gaze fell on the still form lying across the hard, unforgiving floor. She was a woman, slender in shape but completely shattered, her black hair spread out around her like dark ink spilled across the tiles. Strands stuck to her face, with blood matted into them that shone wet and thick beneath the faint light. Her eyes were wide, frozen in a perpetual stare of fear, the sort that seared the soul long after life had departed the body. Her throat had been cut in a clean, brutal swipe, deep enough to end her scream before it could even begin. The pool of blood under her spread like a shadow, dark and slippery, picking up the faint glimmer of the ceiling lights in a sickly sheen. Every detail of the scene cried violence, but what slashed harder than the sight itself was the knowledge. The delicate shape of her jaw, the way her hair fell that he was so accustomed to, even the weak, frightened glint in her eyes—they all belonged to one he knew far too well.

It was not difficult to identify her. The features were unmistakable—sharp, elegant, familiar in a way that pierced deep, bringing out memories that Leon could not so easily dislodge. She had the same rebellious fire that Natasha possessed, the same defiance woven into her very actions. She was Natasha's sister.

Leon did not stir. Tense, his body rigid, jaw clenched, a flicker of pain crossing the otherwise impassive face. He had witnessed death. He had instilled it, time and again. But this. this was not the same. The burden bore down on him, heavy, crushing, something he had never known.

Nova's voice trembled behind him, uncertain, breakable. "Leon. what do you see?

He didn't respond immediately. The words caught between his chest and his throat, not willing to take shape. There was a silence so tight it felt like pulled wire, the air vibrating with tension.

"Leon?" Nova urged softly now, almost begging.

And finally, he shifted, just so, allowing his golden eyes to lock with hers. No words were necessary. The very set of his face, the tension in his shoulders, the shadowy line in his eyes, spoke louder than any sentence possibly could.

Nova's mouth opened in shock, a little, breathless noise leaking out. "Oh gods…"

Natasha danced along beside her, holding Nova's arm like it was the only thing between her and falling. Her voice was shaky, on the verge of breaking. "Tell me… please…"

Leon took a slow, deliberate breath, the resulting sound low and even, but under it, tense. "Don't come closer."

Fear flashed in Natasha's eyes like a burst flare, savage and unmanageable. Panic wrenched her actions as she pushed Nova out of the way, her boots skidding on the wet floor, heart racing in her chest. She surged forward, her voice hoarse, shaking with desperation. "Move!"

Leon did not move. He moved into her path as if a solid shadow, dark and unyielding, radiating a still authority that made the very air around her seem heavier. All her instincts screamed to push past, but he loomed over her like a weight, his darkness enfolding her like an awful pressure. His eyes were dark, hard, and full of something she could not identify—something that took away all strength, leaving only desperate determination.

"Move!" Her cry pierced the tension, more piercing now, charged with the desperation of a person standing on the verge of fear and rage. She pushed ahead, muscles tense and desperate, each step a struggle against the unseen barrier he had now become. "Let me see her!"

Her chest heaved, room spinning a little as panic ripped at her throat. Leon's eyes met hers, unbroken, unrelenting, an unstated challenge burning into her bones. For a moment, the world became the space between them, a war of wills, silent and bitter, each testing the other's boundaries.