No strings attached / Leon s. Kennedy

Chapter 9

I’m fine. Just a little hungover, but I made it home, no worries, I send back to both of them.

After a few seconds, I toss the phone back in my bag and keep walking.

God, I hate Mondays. As I walk through the doors of the large building, disguised to the public as something far less important than it really is, the usual dread settles in. Work will always remind me just how much I hate the start of the week.

Don’t get me wrong, I love this job. The research, the importance of what we do—it gives me purpose, a sense of control in a world that’s anything but predictable. But Mondays? They’re a different beast. They remind me of sleepless nights, of trying to shake off the weekend and dive straight back into the chaos.

I swipe my ID, the familiar beep of the scanner welcoming me back into this world. Just get through today, I tell myself. It's just another Monday.

There's no sign of Leon yet, and honestly, that's a relief. I’ve had more than enough of him for a whole week... but then again, it’s Monday, and the new week is just getting started. I can’t even remember why I agreed to work on Sunday. I usually have the weekends off, but somehow I ended up there.

I head up to my department, already dreading the sight of all the desks in that big room. As I peer inside, there he is—Leon, sitting at his desk. Fuck.

I roll my eyes, trying to suppress the annoyance bubbling up inside me. Nope, I think, just ignore him, and maybe he won’t ask about yesterday. He looks as cool and collected as ever, and the thought of facing him after that ridiculous night makes my stomach twist. Babysitting him has got to be the worst part of my job. The fact that his desk is so tightly crammed next to mine—so I can "monitor his every move"—just makes it worse. I sigh inwardly, forcing myself to walk in, pretending like he isn’t even there.

Great way to start the week.

I sit down at my desk and unlock the drawers, already feeling the weight of the day settling on my shoulders. I start rummaging through the files, making sure everything's in place, when it hits me: Fuck. My heart skips a beat as I realize I left the G and T-Virus documents at home, on my desk.

Panic starts to creep in. I try to think back, but the haze from last night clouds my memory. Did I actually leave them there? Or am I just imagining things? I can’t be sure. I try to replay the moment I was at home before I left for work, but the details are fuzzy.

Shit. If I’ve lost those files, I’m screwed. No—worse—I’d be dead. Hughes isn’t the type to take kindly to missing or misplaced documents, especially not ones as crucial as those. He’s strict, and when it comes to mistakes like this, there’s no leniency. My stomach twists into knots as I dig through the drawers, trying to stay calm and not let my panic show.

I keep rummaging, hoping to find the files tucked somewhere, anywhere in this damn desk. But the more I search, the more I’m sure of it—they’re not here and I'm not sure they're at home either.

As I’m frantically rummaging through the drawers, I hear Leon’s voice from beside me, dripping with that usual snark. “Lose something, Torres? Didn’t think you’d be so disorganized for someone in charge.”

I snap my head up, glaring at him. Of course, he thinks he’s funny.

“Will you just fuck off, Leon?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended. I don’t have the patience for his bullshit right now, not with my heart pounding and panic rising in my throat.

He raises his hands in mock surrender, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright, chill. I’ll leave you to your... whatever this is.”

With a sigh, he turns away, finally leaving me alone. Good. I don’t need his smug comments right now. I continue rifling through my desk, trying to hold myself together, but all I can think about is that damn file. If it’s really gone, I’m in deep trouble.

As I’m still rummaging through the drawers, trying to keep my panic in check, Richard Adams walks by and stops at my desk. “Hey, Amber, you alright?” he asks, looking at me with concern.

For a second, I’m confused, thinking he’s noticed my panic over the missing file. But then he adds, “You know, after last night... You were pretty drunk. I was just making sure you made it home okay.”

Oh. Right. I did send him a message this morning, but I guess he didn’t see it.

I straighten up and force a smile, trying to push the anxiety out of my voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for checking in, but really, I’m good. Just a little hungover, that’s all.”

He nods, still looking a little concerned. “Alright, as long as you’re sure.”

“Positive,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile. The last thing I need is for someone else to notice that I’m panicking about the missing file.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the panic swirling in my head. Focus on something else, Amber. I turn to my computer and open up my work documents. It’s not like I don’t have a million other things to get through—there’s always something in the endless stacks of files that need attention.

I scroll through the folders, looking for anything that will keep my mind off the missing G and T-Virus files. My eyes land on another report I’d been putting off—more research on bio-weapon developments. It’s not as urgent, but at least it’s work I can focus on without spiraling.

I click it open, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Just get into the flow, I tell myself. The workload never gets lighter, so at least I’m doing something productive. Slowly, I start typing, forcing my mind to shift gears. There’s no point in panicking over what I can’t change—not now, anyway. I’ll deal with the missing file later.

I manage to get through the day, though it’s far from easy. The panic gnaws at me from the inside, a constant reminder of the missing file. It definitely wasn’t a pleasant day, but I powered through, doing my best to keep my anxiety under wraps. Thankfully, Leon didn’t bother me after my outburst, and no one seemed to suspect anything was wrong.

By the time I shut down my computer, my mind is racing. Please let that file still be at home, I think. Sure, I could request a new copy if I absolutely had to, but that would raise suspicions. And the last thing I need is Hughes or anyone else asking questions about why I misplaced something so important.

I grab my things, trying not to rush out of the building, and head straight home, hoping—praying—that the file is sitting right where I left it. If it’s not... well, I don’t want to think about that right now.

I rush home, basically hrowing myself through the door. I can't even bother taking off my shoes or jacket—I go straight for the desk. My heart pounds as I get there, and there it is: my file. Huh. It’s still here. Relief washes over me for a split second, but something looks different.

It’s not in the exact spot where I usually leave it. Did I mess up while cleaning? Yeah, probably. Definitely. I shake my head, calling myself stupid for panicking. But I can’t shake the nagging feeling, so I open it up, flipping through the pages.

Everything seems to be there... until I notice it. No. Wait. One letter, just one, stupid, single sheet of paper is missing. My stomach drops a bit too much.

Fuck.

I frantically go through the file again, checking every corner, flipping it twice, three times.. but it’s gone. That one missing letter. and It's the one that could ruin everything.