The safehouse was hidden deep in the northern mountains—no roads, no signals, no satellites. Just snow-covered silence and the faint hum of a portable generator.
The storm outside was fierce that night.
But inside… something stronger was happening.
Ada gripped your hand, sweat on her brow, her body shaking with effort. She had refused help—no hospitals, no outsiders. Only you. Only trust.
"Just one more," you whispered, breathless, holding her as tightly as she held you.
And then—
A cry.
Small. Sharp. Alive.
Ada collapsed back against the pillows, eyes wide, chest heaving.
You caught her—tiny, wrinkled, fierce. The baby was already kicking, protesting the cold air, lungs proving stronger than anything Umbrella ever built.
You wrapped her in the worn red shawl Ada had saved all this time.
Ada blinked slowly, her eyes wet. "She's…"
You knelt beside her, smiling like you hadn't in years. "She's perfect."
Ada looked at the baby—really looked—and for a second, the spy was gone. The assassin, the agent, the survivor... gone.
Only the mother remained.
"I want to name her Lia," she said.
You looked down at her tiny face, her dark hair already wild, her fingers curled like she was ready to fight the world.
"Lia Wong," you whispered. "Yeah. That's her."
Ada reached out, touching the baby's cheek with trembling fingers. "She's going to change everything."
You nodded, voice thick. "She already has."
That night, while the storm howled outside, you held the future in your arms.
And in the glow of the lantern, you and Ada sat close on the floor, wrapped in blankets, your daughter sleeping between you.
For once, there were no guns.
No codes.
No threats.
Only love.
And the quiet promise:
Whatever comes next, we protect her. Together. Always.