Chapter Text
“Behold, I am against you, O destroying mountain…”
Jeremiah 51:25
“Hey, Emily!”
The young woman was walking down the department corridor with a stack of folders in her hands, heading toward the lab where she was supposed to pick up the analysis results from the body they had found that morning on the outskirts of the forest. She was in no mood for pointless morning chatter—especially after being woken up at four in the morning and dragged out to examine a corpse in freezing, miserable weather.
But apparently her colleague had other plans, so Price stopped anyway, hiding her irritation.
“You remember that Leon Kennedy is arriving today, right?”
Emily gathered every ounce of willpower not to roll her eyes. Of course. For the past two days, the entire department had been buzzing with nothing but talk about how the living legend of America was coming to their God-forsaken town, a place that barely survived except during winter thanks to the ski resort.
Unfortunately, it was exactly that season now.
Unfortunately, this season had turned out far less peaceful than the previous ones—girls had started disappearing. All of them tourists who had come to relax and spend a few days skiing or snowboarding. Most likely, no one would have paid much attention to it if the prime minister’s daughter hadn’t vanished as well.
And of course, the authorities decided to send Leon Kennedy here—not surprising at all, especially after he had saved the president’s daughter in Spain.
“So what exactly do you want me to do?” Emily asked dryly. “Hang up balloons? Buy a cake? Paint a banner that says Welcome, Leon?”
Her colleague, already used to the girl’s constant irritation and foul mood, let the sarcasm slide right past her.
“Oh, come on, Emily,” she tried again. “He’s a living legend. Aren’t you at least a little curious? We could help him settle in—he doesn’t know anyone here.”
Price couldn’t help but snort.
“I don’t care if it’s the President of the United States. This isn’t a birthday party, Alex—if you’ve forgotten, we have a job to do. Five missing girls, and one of them is lying on my table right now. We don’t have a single lead or any real evidence, so I’m not participating in this circus.”
She turned away, making it clear the conversation was over.
“I’ve got work to do. Good luck to the rest of you. And if this Leon Kennedy is really as good as everyone says, you’d better prepare a short case briefing for him. He’ll appreciate that a lot more than cake.”
Emily decided to ignore Alex’s words echoing behind her in the empty corridor.
“Workaholic.”
It was absolutely true. On most days, Emily Price could only be found in the morgue, digging through corpses or studying the lab results the technicians brought in. She came here even on weekends, whether the case was complicated or routine. The important thing was to distract herself from the chaos in her thoughts—and not think about the knee that throbbed mercilessly, reminding her of itself every single day.
And now, after spending two hours out in the cold and nearly the same amount of time standing over a body and running between offices, it had started hurting again.
All she wanted was to hide somewhere and inject a painkiller.
Lately, Emily had begun to feel like she was playing a dangerous game with those injections—she could barely function without them anymore. But she had no choice. No one would give her time off for rehabilitation, even though she needed it from time to time.
Not now. Not while their town was going through whatever the hell this was.
Gritting her teeth, Price pushed open the door leading into the lab.
Laura, a girl barely twenty who worked as Emily’s direct assistant and a lab technician, was holding a stack of analysis reports in her hands. Her fingers were trembling slightly, and the forensic pathologist immediately understood that something was wrong.
“What scared you so much, Laura?” Emily asked, getting straight to the point.
The technician had been reading the report so intently that she hadn’t even noticed someone entering the room, and she nearly jumped in place.
“See for yourself,” she said, handing the results to Price.
Laura had been working with her for only half a year, but she was probably the first lab assistant who had managed to last this long in the position. She had quickly figured out that with Emily, there was no need for small talk—just get straight to the point.
Laura was also one of the few people with whom Emily was softer than usual, someone around whom she didn’t bother hiding her pain.
So she limped toward her colleague, shifting most of her weight onto her right—healthy—leg. Laura immediately jumped out of her chair and gestured for Price to sit down, but Emily simply waved her off.
For a brief second, though, Laura caught a flicker of gratitude in her eyes.
Emily scanned the results quickly, her brows drawing together into a frown.
The analysis wasn’t just interesting.
It was strange.
It didn’t fit the simple “hypothermia” theory that had been circulating around the department. Emily wasn’t entirely sure yet, but during the morning autopsy she had already noticed that the lungs didn’t look the way they usually did in people who had frozen to death.
There were also small puncture marks on the victim’s arms—most of them around the inside of the elbows. It almost looked as if, before freezing to death in the forest, the girl had been visiting a hospital regularly to have blood drawn.
In theory, that could have made sense.
But Emily had no idea how to explain the few punctures she had found on the back of the victim’s neck.
Emily headed toward the morgue, with Laura following immediately behind her like a loyal shadow. Price kept shifting her gaze between the analysis results and the body on the table.
“Are you sure these results are correct?” she finally asked, glancing at the technician.
“Yes. I ran the analysis three times. The first time it seemed strange to me too.”
Emily rubbed her temple with her free hand.
“So what do we have here?” Price finally sat down on her favorite wheeled chair and rolled closer to the table with the body. “First, the body temperature doesn’t match the estimated time of death. According to our calculations, the victim died somewhere between midnight and one in the morning, but she wasn’t found until four. There are no signs in the lungs that the death was caused by cold, and the body temperature was completely different from what it should have been in a case like that.”
Laura was taking notes while her supervisor listed the conclusions.
“Second, the puncture marks—three on the right arm, two on the left, with bruising around them. We’ll need to call the hospital. Maybe the victim really did come in recently for blood work and those idiots just couldn’t find the vein on the first try. If that’s the case, they might also be able to explain the punctures on the back of her neck. Though that still doesn’t really fit the overall picture—those marks should’ve healed by the second day.”
Emily glanced at the body again.
“Third, there are no signs of a struggle—no injuries, no scratches, no torn clothing. From that we can conclude…”
“…that there are no signs of a classic physical assault,” Laura finished.
Price nodded. One of the things she appreciated about Laura was that she could actually think—unlike the previous lab assistants the nearest universities kept sending here for internships.
“Fourth, despite everything listed above, the victim’s blood wasn’t clean. There are traces of an unknown substance—definitely not something used in hospitals. Judging by the minimal residue, it breaks down in the bloodstream pretty quickly. On top of that, we’re seeing a severe hormonal imbalance. The levels are almost five times higher than normal, which indicates extreme stress before death. So this isn’t hypothermia.”
Laura put a final period in her notes and looked at the unfortunate girl who would never leave this table again. She had been beautiful—and she certainly hadn’t deserved such a terrible death. Only God knew what had really happened to her.
“There’s no sepsis, no infection, no signs of poisoning either,” Emily continued. “Her body was fighting something—but what exactly, we don’t know. Maybe even her own body didn’t understand what it was dealing with.”
“So…” the technician hesitated. “Are you saying this was some kind of… experiment? Or maybe drug testing?” she tried carefully.
“For now, I’m not saying anything,” Emily shook her head, setting the reports aside. “We have too little input data. And even less output. The only thing we know for sure is that this wasn’t hypothermia. As for what actually caused the death… hell if I know.”
Even Emily could feel that something here wasn’t right—that someone might have interfered with the natural course of things. But it was too early to draw conclusions. One body was something, but it still didn’t give them much.
It would have been easier for everyone if the hypothermia theory had turned out to be correct.
Unfortunately, the case was only becoming more complicated.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing. Emily pulled it out with visible irritation and glanced at the display.
Of course. Alex.
Whether she wanted to or not, she had to answer.
“Emily, Leon’s already here,” her colleague began, sounding slightly excited. “Meeting in five minutes. Mitchell made it very clear he wants you there with everyone else.”
“On my way,” Price muttered and hung up.
Laura handed her the written conclusions she had been taking down under dictation, and Emily grabbed the test results as she stood up from the chair.
Her damn knee reminded her of itself again, and she grimaced.
“Laura, do me a favor. Give me the shot.”
The girl looked at the forensic pathologist uneasily, unsure whether she should say that, strictly speaking, the next injection wasn’t supposed to be administered until tomorrow morning. But Laura never argued with Emily. First, it wasn’t really her place. And second, Price was far too stubborn—she would simply give herself the shot anyway.
So while Laura tried to do it quickly, not wanting to delay Emily before the meeting, Price only hissed softly as the needle slid into her skin.
On a single breath, she muttered:
“Damn Leon Kennedy.”
***
The moment Leon stepped out of the warm interior of the car, the cold winter air struck him mercilessly across the face.
Not exactly the warmest welcome, but he hadn’t expected one.
They had dragged him out of vacation again. This time he had been resting on the ocean shore, trying to get as far away from zombies and viruses as possible—somewhere no one would find him, where he might forget, even for a second, everything he had been through and feel like a normal person again.
But his plans had shattered against harsh reality.
First the president’s daughter. Now the prime minister’s.
At the very least, Leon hoped that this time there wouldn’t be any cults or zombies involved.
Just once. He wasn’t asking for much.
More than anything, though, he hoped there was still someone left to save.
Leon hadn’t been briefed on the case very thoroughly. In fact, he was fairly sure that if the missing girl hadn’t been someone important, the authorities probably wouldn’t have paid much attention to the other disappearances at all.
But now Kennedy stood in front of the local police department, hoping to finally get some real information.
He had no intention of staying here longer than a few days.
In his opinion, only a madman would willingly choose to live in conditions like this. The town was freezing, and he had never liked skiing anyway.
Leon adjusted his jacket, hoping it might help a little against the cold, and stepped toward the station.
As if on cue, the door opened and a man in his fifties stepped outside, smiling.
“Mr. Kennedy! I never would’ve thought you’d visit us here in Pine Hollow!” the man greeted him enthusiastically. He extended his hand, which Leon immediately shook. “Jack Mitchell, head of the department. It’s a pleasure to meet you! I hope you had the chance to enjoy the scenery on your way here.”
Kennedy offered a restrained smile—just the corner of his lips lifting slightly.
Mostly out of politeness.
Scenery? Nothing but snow and trees for miles.
“Of course. Though it’s pretty cold out here,” Leon replied. “And Mr. Mitchell—Leon is fine.”
Formalities were something Kennedy had never been fond of.
“Then just Jack!” Mitchell said, suddenly straightening as if he’d remembered he hadn’t actually invited the agent inside yet. Realizing that might seem impolite, he hurried to correct himself. “Let’s not stand out here in the cold. I’ll give you a quick tour, and then we’ll have a short meeting so you can meet everyone and we’ll bring you up to speed on the case.”
Leon nodded and followed Mitchell inside.
The moment they crossed the threshold of the station, Jack’s demeanor shifted. He became noticeably more serious.
Kennedy noted that he seemed like an open and friendly man—but at work, he kept a professional face.
That alone was enough for Leon to respect him.
The tour turned out to be quick and not particularly talkative.
“You had a smooth trip here?” Mitchell asked.
“Yes. No problems at all,” Kennedy replied shortly.
Jack continued explaining and pointing out where everything in the building was located.
The station itself had two floors, though there was also a basement level. The first floor housed the reception area, rooms for working with civilians and detainees, an interrogation room, as well as the lab and the morgue. Mitchell’s office and several other officers’ offices were located on the second floor, along with the conference room and a small break room.
The basement contained a gym, a training room, a shooting range, and the showers.
All in all, a fairly standard police station.
Leon pushed away the unwelcome memories of that terrible night in Raccoon City.
“Let’s wait for everyone in the conference room. I’ve already told them when the meeting starts,” Jack said, stepping aside to let Kennedy go in first.
Leon swept the room with his sharp gaze.
Nothing unusual—just a large round table, a seemingly endless number of chairs, a projector, and a coffee machine in the corner.
Something, however, held Mitchell back in the hallway.
Leon glanced over his shoulder and noticed a woman passing by the conference room—maybe a little younger than Leon himself. The department head called after her.
“Alex! Tell Emily to be in the conference room in five minutes. She’s not getting out of this meeting—Mr. Kennedy is already here.”
“I don’t understand why you still keep her here, Mr. Mitchell,” the woman’s voice came from the hallway. Before her boss could respond, she quickly added, “I’m calling her right now.”
Her departing footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Judging by the sound of it, no one seemed to be in much of a hurry to get to the meeting.
Leon found himself wondering how they managed to function at all with this level of organization. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that Jack had been right—there were indeed five minutes left before the meeting.
Kennedy noted it mentally. Of course, he could be wrong, and maybe everyone involved would show up on time.
Still, judging by what he had just heard, someone named Emily clearly lacked punctuality—and Leon had very little patience for irresponsible people.
While those five minutes dragged on, Mitchell offered Kennedy some coffee or water.
Leon declined.
What he could really use right now was whiskey.
But of course, out loud he only said a brief, “No, thank you.”
Jack shrugged and didn’t insist. Instead, he sat down at the head of the table and began organizing what appeared to be several folders with documents.
“You can take any free seat,” the chief gestured toward the table while rereading the information they already had.
As soon as Kennedy took off his jacket and sat down, the others began to arrive.
Two men entered the conference room. They both looked roughly the same age—somewhere between thirty-five and forty. Each of them shook Leon’s hand, briefly introducing themselves before taking seats on opposite sides of Mitchell.
Leon glanced at his watch again.
Right on time. One minute before the scheduled meeting.
“Chief, maybe we should start?” one of them asked.
Impatient, Kennedy noted dryly.
“We’re waiting for Miss Price,” Jack replied simply, not even looking up from the papers in front of him.
The man who had spoken let out a short laugh.
“We might be waiting until morning, you know that,” he said. “She’s probably still digging around in a corpse.”
“Next time I wouldn’t mind digging around in yours, Jerome.”
The female voice came from behind Leon.
Kennedy allowed himself a faint smile at the boldness. So things in this department weren’t exactly harmonious after all—at least not between those two.
Still, she had arrived on time.
The agent turned to look at the woman he had already heard twice referred to as the one who’s always late.
For what might have been the first time in his life, he saw someone whose dark circles under her eyes were just as deep and hollow as his own.
She was surprisingly young—definitely younger than Leon. In all his years of service, he had never seen such a young forensic pathologist.
So she must be good at what she does.
Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she carried a cup of coffee and a folder of documents. Judging by her expression, this Emily clearly wasn’t happy to be here.
Leon understood that.
To some extent, he even shared her irritation.
The woman gave Leon a short nod and sat down in an empty chair. He noticed she didn’t choose a seat next to any of her colleagues.
Which meant her relationships with the others probably weren’t great either.
Jerome opened his mouth to respond to her jab, but Jack didn’t give him the chance.
“Let’s begin,” Mitchell said firmly. “First, I’d like to welcome the agent from Washington, Leon Kennedy, to our town. Unfortunately under these circumstances—but rest assured, we’re still glad to have you here.”
The men nodded in agreement.
“To my right is Jerome Johnson, captain of the investigative division. To my left is Detective Noah Brown. And last, but certainly not least, our forensic pathologist—Emily Price.”
Mitchell paused briefly.
“I hope you’ll all be able to work together, because this case is starting to get serious. Jerome, the floor is yours.”
Johnson stepped over to the projector and turned it on. He cleared his throat before beginning the briefing.
Five photographs of young women appeared on the screen.
“As you know, girls have started disappearing. And not just any girls—tourists who came to our God-forsaken town to go skiing.”
“Get to the point, Johnson,” Mitchell cut in.
“Right. Sorry,” he sighed.
“So. The missing women have no connection to each other. They weren’t acquainted and came here from different cities. Two arrived with friends, one with her fiancé, another with her family, and only one came alone.”
He switched to another slide.
“Their ages also vary—from eighteen to thirty. As we know, among the missing is also the prime minister’s daughter—Charlotte Young.”
Only one photograph remained on the screen now: a twenty-two-year-old blonde.
Leon had already seen it. In fact, he knew everything there was to know about the prime minister’s daughter.
The other victims interested him far more.
“All of the victims disappeared suddenly, despite the fact that most of them weren’t alone. Their friends or relatives didn’t notice when—or where—it could have happened. We found no leads. No traces. No camera footage. In short, nothing.”
He paused briefly.
“It’s as if the girls simply vanished into thin air.”
Jerome switched to another slide.
This time the photograph was unfamiliar to Kennedy.
“This is Amelia Bennett. Twenty-seven years old. She disappeared the day before yesterday. She came here on vacation with her fiancé.”
The image changed.
“He says she stepped outside the hotel for a smoke but never came back. Whether she disappeared there or went somewhere else—we don’t know. But she’s the first girl we’ve found.”
He paused.
“More precisely—her body.”
The photograph on the screen changed again, showing her corpse lying in the snow.
“Early this morning, around four, we received a call from a local hunter who found the body. And now I’ll pass the floor to our charming Miss Price. Hopefully she managed to figure something out.”
The last sentence dripped with open sarcasm, as if Jerome doubted his colleague was capable of anything useful.
Leon shot a quick glance at Emily.
It seemed to him that if there weren’t witnesses in the room, her coffee cup would have already been flying toward Johnson’s head.
Which, frankly, would have been well deserved.
“Thank you, Johnson,” the woman said.
She didn’t even bother standing up.
“I performed the autopsy, and Laura and I ran all the necessary tests. Based on what we’ve found, this clearly isn’t hypothermia. But determining the actual cause of death is difficult.”
She paused briefly.
“It would help if we had another body.”
Noah snorted.
“Another body? Are you serious right now? Girls are disappearing, and judging by the corpse we’ve seen, not without reason—and you’re saying we need another dead body?”
“I didn’t say dead, Brown,” she replied calmly. “A live one would work too.”
Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.
“Let’s save your arguments for later,” Mitchell said sharply. “Emily, what did the tests show?”
“We found traces of an unknown substance in the victim’s blood. It appears to break down very quickly. There’s also a severe hormonal imbalance, which suggests the victim experienced extreme stress before death.”
While she spoke, Emily kept clicking her pen.
Clearly the information disturbed her enough to make her nervous.
She might have been able to hide that from her colleagues.
But not from Leon.
“There are no signs of infection or poisoning in the blood. According to our calculations, she died sometime between midnight and one in the morning. The body wasn’t discovered until four.”
She leaned back slightly.
“This is not hypothermia. The lungs show no signs of it, and the body temperature at the time she was found confirms that. Physical violence also wasn’t the cause of death.”
She tapped the pen once more.
“There are also strange puncture marks on the body. As if someone had been drawing blood from her while she was still alive. There are additional punctures on the back of her neck.”
She paused.
“That’s everything for now.”
The information seemed to make the men visibly uneasy.
For a brief moment Leon wondered whether this could be some kind of new virus.
But he quickly pushed the thought aside.
Emily was right.
One body wasn’t nearly enough to draw any solid conclusions.
“And what do you think about all this?” Jack asked. There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
“Nothing yet,” she replied after a moment. “It’s too early to say.”
Then she added:
“Mr. Mitchell, you know how it goes. Once is an accident. I don’t want to escalate the situation until I see a pattern—or at least a coincidence. But hopefully our precious Agent Kennedy will help us figure it out.”
For the second time during the meeting, Price looked at Leon.
Her gaze was heavy—harder than the one he had seen in many men over the years.
Well.
He hoped he would figure out this mess too.