Chris looked back up too fast, “Did anyone see who brought it?
“No…” Leon frowned, “Why?”
Chris folded the card once between his fingers, for the first time all morning, Leon saw something genuinely cold move behind Chris Redfield’s eyes. The shift in him was immediate, like something in him had clicked into place the moment the card left Leon’s hand and the paper’s scent hit his nose.
Chris Redfield stepped forward, voice low and rough with something that wasn’t quite anger yet, but was heading there fast, “Who the fuck brought this?!”
Leon flinched slightly, not because Chris had never raised his voice before, but because he had never heard it aimed like that at him.
“I don’t know!” Leon said quickly, reaching for the card again, “Chris, it’s just— I just found it on the desk—” but Chris had already grabbed it back, and that was the problem, now it wasn’t a joke anymore.
Leon reached out instinctively, “Hey!! hey— give it back—”
“I want to know who left it!” Chris snapped.
The card tugged between them.
A ridiculous, escalating struggle over a piece of paper that smelled faintly of leather and had somehow become the most important object in the building.
A pen clattered off the desk. Somewhere off the side of them, a detective muttered, “Oh, here we go…” with a full view of reception from the doorway.
Leon tried again, softer now, “Chris, it’s not a big deal, I was just—”
“It is a big deal,” Chris cut in.
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