Leon Kennedy

Chapter XXXIV

The mansion had shifted by the time Leon reached the kitchen.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough that he felt it the moment he stepped past the threshold — the subtle return of routine, the familiar hum of someone who knew the space well enough to move through it without hesitation. The nanny was already there, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, moving between the counters as if she had never truly left. The scent of garlic and simmering broth hung gently in the air, warm and reassuring, threading itself through the high ceilings and polished stone.

Adam and Leona stood close to her, not underfoot, but involved.

Leona hovered at her side, talking a mile a minute, hands animated as she explained everything they'd done while she was gone. Adam stayed a half-step back, quieter, observant, but his attention never drifted far. He watched the way the nanny chopped vegetables, the rhythm of her movements, absorbing it all with the same calm focus he brought to everything else.

"We missed you," Leona said earnestly, her voice carrying over the gentle clatter of cookware. "Dad took care of everything, but it's not the same without you."

The nanny smiled, not surprised. "I knew he would," she replied easily, glancing toward Leon without turning fully. "He made sure I didn't have to worry."

Leon paused just inside the doorway, the moment catching him slightly off guard. He hadn't expected acknowledgment. He never did.

Leona spun toward him immediately, eyes bright. "And he taught us how to cook!"

Leon straightened instinctively. "Basic things," he said, almost defensively. "Safety. Timing. Cleaning up after yourselves."

Adam nodded once. "He said you can't rush food. Or people."

That made Leon look at him.

The nanny laughed softly. "Well," she said, clearly impressed, "sounds like you've been busy."

Before Leon could respond, Ada entered the kitchen.

She didn't announce herself. She never did. One moment the doorway was empty; the next, she was there — calm, composed, wearing a dress that moved subtly as she leaned against the counter, arms loosely folded. Her presence shifted the air just slightly, not with tension, but with awareness.

Leona noticed her immediately. "Mom," she said, smiling wide. "Dad's really good. Adam was so excited when he learned how to cut onions properly."

"I was focused," Adam replied evenly, though there was a trace of pride beneath it.

Ada raised an eyebrow, amused. "Of course you were." Her gaze slid back to Leon, lingering just long enough to make him aware of himself — of where he stood, of what he'd said, of how easily the moment had unfolded without him noticing.

"We can help again," Leona announced, climbing onto a stool without waiting for permission. "Dad says helping makes things better."

"That's not exactly how I phrased it," Leon muttered while putting the groceries on top of the counter. "Can you help unpack these?" He asked Nanny.

Nanny looked at Leon and nodded at his request.

"It's what you meant," Adam said, already washing his hands.

Ada watched them for a moment, something quiet settling behind her eyes. Not surprise. Not suspicion. Just... consideration. Leon caught it — the way her lips curved faintly, the way her shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

The nanny gestured toward the counter. "All right, helpers. Let's see what you've learned."

Leona grinned and leaned in immediately. Adam followed, calm and deliberate, sleeves rolled just enough to keep out of the way.