Spencer's Manor – Basement
Jack's thoughts were still a mess. His lips tingled with the ghost of something he hadn't expected, something he shouldn't have let happen. He shook his head hard, muttering under his breath, "Rebecca's going to kill me."
But the lingering heat of Jill's kiss clung to him all the same.
The silence of the ruined lab pressed back in around them. Jill's breath was shallow but steadier now, her body weak from venom and serum alike. She swayed when she tried to push herself upright.
Jack moved without hesitation, sliding an arm under her shoulder to steady her. The weight of her against him felt both fragile and grounding. His chest was still tight, his pulse hammering with everything they'd just survived, but his hands were steady, his voice low.
"Easy. You're not walking out of here alone," he murmured.
Jill gave the faintest smirk, though her lips were pale. "I can manage." Her words were stronger than her body, but when her knees buckled, Jack caught her before she could fall.
"Sure you can," he said dryly, adjusting her weight onto him again. The riot gun was slung across his back, its weight heavy but comforting. His free hand kept his flashlight steady, cutting through the murk as he guided them away from the nest.
The lab stank of blood and reptile musk, every drip echoing too loudly in the silence. Pipes hissed overhead, steam leaking from ruptures. Jack's boots sloshed in the shallow water, Jill's steps dragging beside him, her breath brushing his shoulder with every stagger.
For a moment, the image of her lips pressed to his flashed again, and he forced it down, jaw tightening. This wasn't the time. Couldn't be.
Jill must have felt it too—her eyes stayed forward, refusing to meet his, her weight shifting just enough to stand on her own for a few steps before sagging back into him.
"You good?" Jack asked quietly.
Her response was a whisper, almost lost under the drip of water. "Alive. Thanks to you."
That was enough for him.
They pressed on through the basement corridors, every shadow thick, every echo suspect. Jack's Viral Sense still burned faintly at the edges of his mind, warning of predators beyond the walls. But for now, the Yawn was gone. For now, they had a sliver of calm.
And in that calm, a sound broke the silence.
Not claws scraping. Not the hiss of steam.
A cough. Ragged, human.
Jack froze, every instinct on edge. His flashlight beam jerked toward the dark corridor ahead, muscles coiled as if ready for another fight.
But the sound came again—wet, strained, the sound of lungs fighting for air. Whoever it was, they weren't one of Umbrella's monsters.
Jack's voice dropped low, steady. "Someone's here."
Jill forced herself upright at his side, pistol shaky but raised. Her voice carried a flicker of hope through the tension. "Then let's find out who."
The coughing grew louder as Jack and Jill advanced down the narrow passage, beams of their flashlights cutting through the damp. The air was colder here, stale with mildew and dust.
Then the light caught movement.
A man slumped against the wall, one leg twisted awkwardly, his uniform torn and dark with blood. His pistol dangled loosely from his grip, though it was clear he no longer had the strength to raise it. His head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion at the approaching lights.
Jack steadied Jill as she crouched in front of him, her pistol trembling faintly in her grip.
Enrico's eyes softened with recognition. "Valentine… thank God."
Jill's breath hitched. "Enrico."
Enrico Marini, Bravo Team's captain, sagged further against the wall. His lips trembled in a faint smile. "Didn't think… I'd see another friendly face down here."
Jack kept the riot gun angled low but ready, his eyes sweeping the shadows. He stayed silent, letting Jill speak for both of them.
Jill crouched closer. "You're hurt. We need to get you out of here."
Enrico gave a dry, bitter laugh that turned into a cough. "No getting out. Not for me. Listen—" His gaze locked on Jill's, urgent. "I've been piecing this together since Bravo went down. Umbrella… they sent us here to die. Every hallway, every creature—it's all a field test. We're the lab rats, Jill. You and Alpha both."
Jack's jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, letting the man speak.
Enrico coughed again, blood flecking his lips. His voice dropped lower, heavy with strain. "There's worse. There's a traitor in S.T.A.R.S. Feeding Umbrella everything. That's how they know our moves before we make them."
Jill's heart sank. She didn't speak.
Enrico's eyes shifted toward Jack then, narrowing. "And that traitor… they know about Umbrella's little pet project." His hand trembled as he raised a finger, pointing weakly at Jack. "Subject #199. Jack Hale."
Jack stiffened, shotgun lowering slightly. "The hell are you talking about?"
Enrico shook his head, wincing as pain racked him. "There's a traitor… and they already know what you are."
Jill's breath caught.
Her mind flashed back to that hallway confrontation. Barry's voice, gruff and unyielding: "If both of you are standing here vouching for him, I'll take that. For now. But hear me—you even look like you're turning, I'll put you down myself. No hesitation."
At the time, she had brushed it off as Barry being overprotective. But now, with Enrico's warning, the words felt heavier. Too specific. Too knowing.
Her grip tightened on her pistol, though she said nothing.
Enrico coughed violently, spitting blood, his face pale. Jill leaned closer, desperate.
"Enrico, tell us—who is it? Who's the traitor?"
For a moment, it looked like he would answer. His lips parted, his gaze steady despite the pain.
Then a sharp crack split the air.
The sound of a single gunshot echoed down the tunnel. Enrico jerked, eyes going wide as blood bloomed across his chest. His pistol clattered from his hand as he slumped sideways against the wall, breath leaving him in a rattling sigh.
Jill froze, shock coursing through her. "No—!"
Jack was already moving, shoving her behind him as he swept the riot gun up. His flashlight beam cut through the corridor ahead.
Nothing. Only shadows.
But Jack's Viral Sense spiked—sharp, unnatural, like a predator masking itself just out of sight. Not B.O.W., not Yawn, not Tyrant. Different. Stronger. Something that reeked of precision, of control.
For a split second, he thought he felt eyes on him—calm, cold, dissecting him like prey. Then it was gone, the corridor empty save for the lingering echo of the gunshot.
Jack's gut twisted. Whoever pulled the trigger wasn't rushing. They wanted him to know.
Jill dropped beside Enrico, her hand pressing to his wound even though she already knew it was useless. His eyes were glassy, fixed on nothing.
"Damn it…" she whispered, voice breaking.
Jack's voice was hard, steady despite the churn in his chest. "He's gone. We need to move. Now."
Jill's hands lingered on Enrico's cooling form, her jaw clenched. But finally she nodded, forcing herself upright. Her pistol trembled faintly in her hand, though her eyes were set like steel.
Behind them, the echo of the gunshot still hung in the air. Ahead, only shadow.
And somewhere in that shadow, a pair of yellow, predatory eyes were watching.