Chapter Text
Cover by LovelyProphet
"...We have a problem."
Amy turned from the window, where she'd been watching the storm churn beyond the antique glass. The warped panes liquefied the view outside into rippling shapes, as if she were gazing through an oversized ice cube.
Her grip tightened on the suitcase handle. Breathe. "What do you mean?"
Tails and Knuckles shifted awkwardly. The former glanced back at the empty reception desk where Sonic seemed to be waiting for someone, fingers drumming on the counter.
"They can't find our reservation," Tails said after a moment, ears pinning back in frustration.
Oh, Chaos. She looked around the small lobby, rubbing her arm nervously. Low beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and a large fireplace roared in the corner. It smelled like dry wood and cedar, and down the hall, a murmur of voices hinted at a lounge packed full of guests.
Amy longed to join them. Sure, it wasn't the nicest hotel they'd been to during their trip, but it was cozy and, most importantly, not the inside of their van.
She was ready for this long day of driving to be at an end.
"Maybe a typo in the name?" she asked, forcing a laugh. "What about our confirmation email?"
Tails grimaced. "We can't find that, either."
"They also said they were 'full up'," Knuckles said, crossing his arms. "Many have come to shelter from the storm."
Panic threatened to rise and she pushed it down. Her gaze snagged again on Sonic, who was now leaning over the desk, chatting with the receptionist.
At first glance, he looked casual, like the hotel was just another pit stop on the way to their real destination.
Upon closer inspection the truth was obvious.
Amy watched as he ran a hand through his quills, over and over. It was the same motion she'd seen the time he'd forgotten her birthday. When he'd promised to help paint her house and vanished for a week.
The way he always looked when he messed up.
"We never booked at all, did we?" she said, voice flat.
"I thought we did!" Tails replied quickly. "I was calibrating the Tornado's thrusters when you called, so I asked Sonic to—"
Amy made a low sound of distress and collapsed onto the carved log bench below the window. She instantly regretted it; even through two layers of leggings, she could feel the rough wood and the pinpricks of splinters threatening to lodge in the back of her thighs. Ow.
Her forehead thunked against the suitcase. Today had felt like an exercise in extreme patience. Everything that could go wrong? It had. This is what she got for not planning the entire trip by herself. She was supposed to be de-stressing, not re-stressing.
She forced herself to take a deep breath. Then another. Lifting her gaze just enough to stare at Tails' phone, she asked, "Okay, so… next hotel? We should figure out a plan before the storm sets in."
Light taps of gloves on glass, followed by silence. Had his service cut out, or was he just avoiding her gaze? Amy wondered if she'd even get to catch up on her favorite comfort rom-com tonight, the one where the heroine always got the happy ending she'd earned.
"Tails?" She peeled her cheek off the suitcase. "How far?"
“Uh, I think—” An audible swallow. “—This is the only one in town.”
She blinked. "Sorry, I hallucinated. Say that again?"
Tails smiled, the expression tight and strained. "…It's the only hotel? But, ah, maybe if we keep driving—"
"Chaos."
Her forehead thunked back onto the suitcase, even louder than before. The harsh movement caused it to wobble dangerously, and she sat back just as the suitcase tipped over.
Even her suitcase was against her today, she thought morosely. Amy didn't even try to catch it. She just winced, bracing for the sound of it hitting the hard floor.
Knuckles, however, seemed to have no such reservations—catching it with one extended claw before pushing it back upright. Amy flashed him a grateful, tired smile before curling up on the bench, boots leaving wet imprints on the bench's dusty surface as she drew her knees to her chest.
A series of muted pops sounded from beneath her—the distinct, staticky noise of threads snapping one by one.
Damn it. There went the leggings.
Amy peered down and sighed at the myriad of splinters peppering the snagged fabric. And these were new, too. Even the furniture was out to get her today.
Ever the observant one, Knuckles moved closer, his steady hand squeezing her shoulder. "Replaceable," he rumbled. "Do not worry, we will figure it—"
"Man, can you believe this weather?" Sonic materialized beside them, his voice cutting through the echidna's attempt to reassure her. He bumped Tails with a shoulder. "Total bad luck, huh?"
The weather. Luck. Right. A retort was forming, filling her mouth like bile.
If Amy stayed here for one more second, she'd scream.
Or worse, say what was on her mind.
Snatching up her suitcase, Amy crossed to the front door in three short strides. Snowflakes scattered across the threshold as she yanked it open, the sound of creaking wood mingling with the brittle jingling of the entrance bell.
"I need air," she said without looking back. "Meet you guys at the car."
· ⊹ ·✶· ⊹ ·
The car door slammed shut with more force than she intended, sending an echo through the snow-covered lot. Glancing around anxiously, Amy was relieved when she found no living beings in the vicinity to witness her slip-up. She was alone, save for the rows of cars surrounding her, their windows fogged and frosted over.
Their drivers were likely cozied up in their rooms by now, the cold long forgotten.
But not her. Not them.
Outside, the storm had lulled—the whirlwind of white slowing to a gentle descent of flakes—but Amy knew from the weather report that it wouldn't last. Not caring about the direction, she marched away, kicking drifts of snow hard enough to send powder spraying.
This road trip had been a disaster. She wasn't relaxed, hadn't fulfilled any of the promises she'd made to herself. And now? No hotel, no plan, just another mess to fix. Her eyes burned. Sonic hadn't done it on purpose, wasn't trying to upset her… and that was the worst part, because getting mad just felt petty.
She bit her lip, looking up at the sky. It was still early, but the sun was already bleeding over the tall peaks that surrounded the town of Blackthorn, staining the snow pink.
It was the sort of town where the main road was the only one with a name. A place where travelers stopped for gas, or locals remained because it was the only home they'd ever known. They'd planned to be there for just one night—one last rest before the final stretch of their journey back home—but the idea of getting a good night's sleep was starting to feel like a distant concept.
This was not how she wanted her vacation to end.
Stupid Sonic.
His chronic avoidance had been frustrating enough; this fiasco with the reservation was just the cherry on top.
This trip had been it. Amy had promised herself that much. One calm, adult conversation—
What are we?
No tears, no chasing, no running away—
What do you want from me?
She was so tired of this game. They'd been playing it for years—one step forward, two steps back. Halfway through her twenties, and what did she have? A handful of lingering glances, a collection of almosts. And then (like clockwork), whenever she was on the verge of giving up, Sonic would take a step forward and throw her heart into turmoil once again.
He wasn't great at hiding his emotions. Amy had caught him staring. Somewhere beneath his cool and casual attitude, he felt something for her, she just knew it.
But it didn't matter, not if he refused to act on those feelings. Worse, Sonic had drawn an invisible line between them that had no clear boundaries, no clear rules. A line that he himself was responsible for blurring, and one that would inevitably be redrawn once he backtracked.
Amy knew there had to be a good reason for his behavior, and she couldn't help but notice that Sonic's casual flings all had one thing in common: they were feminine, gentle, and easygoing in a way that she… wasn't.
So she'd sanded down her edges. Swallowed the fire that liked to flare behind her ribs. Worked hard to be more patient, more mature, but it hadn't made a difference. She'd been trying to get a moment alone with him their entire trip, but there was always some convenient excuse, and it left her feeling increasingly frustrated.
The gentle approach wasn't working. And Amy had the sinking feeling that soon there'd be nowhere for that swallowed fire to climb but out.
She blew out a breath, sighing heavily. It escaped her lips in a frosty cloud, lingering in the air before dissipating into mist. Sonic had shaped her entire life. There were the little things—her favorite chao, her go-to ice cream flavor—and the big ones: her friends, her home, her work with the Restoration. He was woven so tightly into the fabric of her life, she wasn't sure she could pull him out without everything else unraveling.
If she walked away from this, from him, Amy feared she might erase a part of herself. But she couldn't keep going like this. This trip was supposed to be her answer, she needed it to be.
That didn’t stop her from being terrified about it, though.
She sucked in a breath, scrubbing her cheeks with her sleeves. Get it together. You're not sleeping in a snowbank tonight.
"Miss?"
She whirled around. An employee in a red uniform hovered nearby, his name tag glinting under the parking lot lights. Behind him, a delivery truck idled, hazards blinking sluggishly, exhaust coiling into the cold air.
Oh. Just how far had she walked?
"Sorry—" He winced. "Gotta unload. Storm's got the drivers jumpy."
"Right. Sorry." She stepped aside, but her boot skidded on a patch of ice.
The kid lunged to steady her. "Whoa—easy! You okay?"
No. The concern in his voice split her open. A tear escaped. Then another.
He paled. "Uh—did I—?"
"N-no." She waved him off, retreating to the curb. "Just… a bad day. My friends forgot to book our hotel and there's no more rooms and I—" I've wasted my whole vacation trying to talk to a guy who's allergic to feelings. She swiped at her eyes again. "I'll get out of your way."
The kid scratched his neck. "Y'know, the place I work at's got rooms. It's kinda… out there—" He pulled out his phone, showing a photo of a weathered mountain estate. Its silhouette loomed against the treeline, windows glowing amber, like watchful eyes in the dark. "But the roads won't ice for at least a few more hours. Should be okay if you leave soon."
Hope flared, then dimmed as Amy examined the image more closely. The place looked like it belonged in a gothic novel. "That's really nice of you, but… we're on a budget."
"Nah, it's not expensive right now. Could even get you the friends-and-family rate. Off-season's dead anyways." He lowered his voice. "Literally. Locals won't go near it."
"Why?"
"Dunno. Drama with the old owner?" He shrugged. "Say the place gives 'em the creeps. I think it’s just the wifi—spotty as hell."
"...You're sure it wouldn't be too much trouble?"
"Boss'll kiss you for showing up." His grin was lopsided, contagious. "An besides, you look like you need a bed that isn’t a backseat."
Her laugh surprised her. "Wow. Setting the bar real high."
"Hey, we excel at low expectations."
· ⊹ ·✶· ⊹ ·
The water was scalding, the towels fluffy, and when Amy stepped out of the shower, the steam swirled around her in a cloud of lavender and pine.
It was perfect. Warm and quiet and tranquil—
Well, almost quiet. Her mind kept replaying Sonic's voice as they'd entered the lobby.
"Nice. Good find, Ames!"
No apology. No "Sorry I messed up." Not even a simple thank you.
Reaching for the robe draped over the brass hook, she clenched her fists in the fabric and forced herself to take a deep breath. In. Out. This wasn't the time to dwell on that. Not now, when she finally had some space to breathe. Not when she was free from the threat of cramped legs and Knuckle's endless, bone-rattling snores.
This small slice of peace was hard-won, and she refused to let anything disturb it.
They'd arrived just as the storm had sunk its claws deep into the mountainside, turning the road treacherous. Cloaked in snowfall and twilight, Mystic Springs Resort had looked like something out of a half-remembered dream. Its dark moss-mottled brick, tall snow-dusted spires, and solemn arched windows gave it an imposing-yet-majestic look. It had the quiet majesty of a cathedral left to the wilds.
A quick online search indicated that it had once been a private retreat, recently purchased and converted. The natural hot springs that bubbled up across the estate had made it a worthy tourist draw apparently—despite the lack of things to do in Blackthorn, which was the nearest town by hours.
Inside, ice and howling wind had been replaced by plush carpets, gilded mirrors, and chandeliers that dripped crystal like tears. Amy's complaints about their situation had further evaporated when they'd realized said storm would delay their travels.
Three days in luxury, at a dirt-cheap discount? Best. Snowstorm. Ever. For the first time all day—all week, really—she felt there might be hope for their vacation. Tomorrow, she'd marinate in the hot springs until her worries dissolved. Thank the gods the resort sold swimsuits.
She leaned into the mirror, inspecting her face, and reached along the counter for her eye cream. The stubborn shadows under her eyes were a testament to the early mornings and late nights she'd dedicated to work as of late. She felt a little guilty for extending the trip, but Jewel could manage without her. She'd earned this.
A knock sounded from the hall.
"Ames? You there?"
Sonic.
"J-just a minute!" Her sleeve snagged on her quills, tugging sharply, and she spent a panic-induced moment wrestling the cloth for control.
What was he doing here?
The sleeve came free, and she hurried to apply concealer under her eyes before stealing one last look at herself in the mirror.
Damp quills. Flushed cheeks. …Pretty?
Casual, she corrected herself. Maybe he'd notice, maybe not. Amy didn't care. She wasn't thinking about it one bit. Nope, not at all.
No one liked a girl who was too much.
Heart in her throat, she scrambled to the door, fingers slipping on the handle in her haste to open it. Was this it? Was he here to talk? To apologize?
In the dimly lit hallway, Sonic had propped himself against the opposite wall, attention glued to his phone, head tilted to avoid the bronze sconce jutting from the wall. As the door opened, he glanced up, and for a heartbeat, his eyes caught, lingering on her face, her robe's loose collar—
Her skin prickled. Heat crawled up her neck. Then he blinked, and it—whatever it had almost been—was gone, his face going carefully blank.
"Lounge's got unlimited cookies." Sonic managed a grin, but it came a beat too late, stiff at the edges. He stuffed his phone in his pocket. "You in?"
A myriad of emotions crashed over her all at once. Disappointment, followed by something worse: stupidity. What had she been hoping for, exactly? Amy swallowed hard, feeling as if the lump in her throat was made of shards of glass.
"Sure! I just need to get dressed, do you mind—"
"Cool, yeah." He pushed off the wall, already stepping back. "I'll save us a spot."
His voice carried that familiar, strained lightness she'd come to dread on this trip—the one that ended conversations before they began. Before she could say another word, Sonic was halfway down the hall, his steps too quick (even for him) to seem casual.
"…waiting for me," she finished, her voice barely a whisper in the now-empty hallway.
Amy shut the door with a soft click and sagged against it, feeling the cool wood seep through her robe. The sight of her room—which had seemed so relaxing just moments ago—made her eyes sting. The burgundy velvet bedding, the carved four-poster frame, the stained-glass lamps that cast shadows over brocade curtains and the thick, wine-colored carpet… all of it screamed romance, and the irony of it made her want to tear it all down.
It hurt more now that they were adults, now that his avoidance couldn't be explained away by immaturity.
How could he look at her like that and still run?
What was wrong with her?
"You can do this," she told the ceiling, summoning whatever courage she had left. "Three days. One conversation. Make it work."
Even rejection would hurt less than this limbo.
(…Right?)
· ⊹ ·✶· ⊹ ·
Thankfully, the front desk offered pamphlets that advertised the resort's many amenities, complete with an elegantly illustrated map on the back. So even though the first floor was impressively vast, Amy navigated it with ease, passing through corridors lined with faded oil paintings and dark, gilded wallpaper on the way to the lounge.
On the downside, her quills had fought her blow dryer every step of the way (as if they were rebelling to make a return to their natural, spiky shape), so by the time she actually got to there, the argument was in full swing.
"—naive ideas you have about cooperation. We work alone."
Rouge?
Amy rounded the corner and stopped short.
Seriously? Of all the people to run into...
The bat was sprawled on a deep emerald chaise, her smirk sharp and cutting. "Oh good," she purred, "the cheerleader's here. Maybe you can mediate."
Where the reception had been relatively sparse in its decor, the lounge was a study in maximalism. A variety of trinkets littered every surface: a miniature globe, a chess set abandoned mid-game. Walnut paneling hugged the walls, and at the far end, a fire crackled beneath a mantle carved with vines. Amy would have found it cozy in any other circumstance, but at this moment, stepping into the room felt like walking under a waterfall. Her head dipped instinctively as the tension in the air settled over her.
Cheerleader. Amy’s eye twitched, but she pasted on a smile. "Hi, Rouge."
Joining Tails and Knuckles by the refreshment table (Knuckles shot her a look of relief, like she was backup they'd been waiting on), she nodded to the brooding figure by the fireplace. "Shadow."
Shadow didn't so much as acknowledge her, his glare locked on Sonic.
Cool. Real mature.
Sonic slouched in an oversized chair, feet dangling over the armrest. He flashed her a lazy grin. "Shadow's being real secretive. Got some big mission he can't tell us about."
"Because it's none of your business," Shadow growled.
"Aw, c'mon!" Sonic rolled to his feet and began to wander the room, eyes trailing over the decor like a cat in search of entertainment. "Where's your sense of fun?"
Tails turned to her with a palms up gesture that seemed to say, see what we've been dealing with here?
Amy stepped forward. "Look, what if—"
"No." Shadow's gaze skimmed over her, cold and dismissive. "This isn’t a group project."
She stiffened. "I wasn’t asking to join! I just—"
"I dunno," Sonic cut in. Across the lounge, he fingered a dusty portrait frame in faux contemplation. "Don't you think it's sus they turned up here at the same time we did? What are the odds? I think we have a right to know."
Shadow's jaw clenched. "What part of classified do you not understand?"
Sonic drifted in front of a grandfather clock, its face cloudy with age. He flipped the glass open and nudged the minute hand—just a touch.
The pendulum creaked, then stuttered to a halt mid-swing.
He glanced back at Shadow, wearing a lazy grin. "Hey, found something even more ancient than you. Still not as grumpy, though." He rocked back on his heels. "Didn't realize you were such a stickler for rules."
For a beat, Shadow said nothing. The firelight glinted off his eyes like hot coals. "Rules exist because idiots like you lack foresight. Or survival instincts."
Sonic let out a low whistle. "Damn. Ice cold, Shads."
He stepped away from the clock, and Amy let out a sigh of relief, until she noticed the pendulum hadn't resumed swinging. Tails' gaze flicked to it, a faint line forming between his brows.
"Are you kidding me?" She dragged a hand down her face. Gaia, give her strength; she wondered if there was a friends and family discount for destroying antiques. "What is wrong with you?" She whirled on Sonic, her hands curling into fists. "Can we please just act like adults for five minutes? If their mission is dangerous, we—"
"Mission, schmission." Sonic wandered to the refreshment bar, oblivious to her fury. He tossed a cookie into the air, catching it in his mouth. "Danger's our middle name," he mumbled, still chewing.
Crumbs rained onto the carpet. He didn't even notice.
"And immaturity must be your first!" she snapped. "For once, could you take something seriously?"
Sonic froze, another cookie halfway to his mouth. "Woah, Ames, it's just Shadow being—"
"Stop!"
The word tore from her, raw and frayed and too loud for the stillness of the lounge.
"Don't Ames me. You're not even listening. You never—"
Her voice broke. She clamped her mouth shut, chest heaving.
The room fell into silence, as if everyone were holding their breath at once. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to flinch, cowed by the heat rising in her voice. Tails and Knuckles shifted, suddenly fascinated by the floor. Rouge's smirk vanished, replaced by something unreadable—
And Shadow. He'd hardly looked at her this whole time, but he sure as shit was staring now. Really staring. Like he'd just noticed her presence for the first time.
Sonic blinked. His hand hovered, still clutching the cookie like it might shield him. He looked as if he'd stumbled into a room where something private was happening and didn't know how to leave.
"…Amy," he started, quiet.
And that one syllable was enough to make her stop breathing.
She waited.
And waited.
But nothing came. He stood frozen, as if any move might make it worse—either unable or unwilling to reach across the distance and meet her halfway.
Amy wrapped her arms around herself. Voice small, she said, "...Forget it."
She turned and fled.
The trip back to her room was a red-tinged blur. The lobby was packed, and the thought of being trapped among strange eyes made her stomach twist. She took the stairs two at a time, hands balled at her sides.
Ruined it. She'd ruined everything.
What kind of idiot screamed at someone and then prayed they'd love her back?
Her, apparently.
She reached the third-floor landing and swore, doubling back down to the second. The hallway was mercifully devoid of other guests, so there were no witnesses to the tears slipping down her cheeks.
Sonic wouldn't be mad. He never was. He'd give her space, forgive her with a smile. He'd move on so quick it'd be like it never even happened.
And that was the problem.
That's what you did when you loved someone unconditionally, but not when you were in love. Not when you wanted more. If he really cared, shouldn't her words have struck a chord?
Shouldn't he have followed her?
Pushed back?
Said something?
She wanted him to chase her. To choose her, even at her worst. Just once, she wanted her feelings met halfway. To scream, to cry, and finally get something—anything—back. Not platitudes. Not another gentle letdown disguised as kindness.
Chaos, even a door slammed in her face would be better than this. At least it would mean something.
Amy slipped into her room and shut the door. She stared at the deadbolt for a long moment and then laughed, sharp and hollow, and locked it, too.
What, was she expecting Sonic to kick it down? Sweep her into some grand confession?
She dimmed the lights, leaving the faint glow of the bathroom to keep her company. This whole 'romantic fantasy' ambiance could go to hell.
Yanking her sleep shirt on, she dug into the depths of her suitcase, fingers closing around soft fluff. Cream's favorite chao plushie, slipped into her bag as a good luck charm. Pathetic.
She curled into bed, hugging it tightly to her chest, and shoved a pillow over her ears to muffle the world.
If she couldn't hear, she couldn't listen for footsteps outside the door.
Deep down, she already knew—no one was coming.
· ⊹ ·✶· ⊹ ·
"—check on her."
"—needs space, Tails. She—"
Shadow stood by the fireplace, unmoving. The door clicked shut, sealing off the voices in the hall.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen the girl cry—nor did he think it would be the last—but something in her voice had been different.
Not just angry, not just hurt—but defeated. There was a finality in her tone he'd never heard before.
For some reason, he found it fascinating.
"…All good, hon?"
His expression dropped from contemplative to cold. Rouge was still lounging on the chaise, watching him with that look—the one that always cut deeper than it had any right to.
He shoved thoughts of the girl from his mind. There were more important problems to address.
Four, to be exact.
He didn't know why Rouge asked questions she already knew the answers to. No, four more complications weren't good by any definition. The last thing he needed was a pack of amateurs stomping around with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.
He pushed off the brick hearth and began to pace the lounge. "Is it not suspicious to you that they show up here of all places?"
Rouge idly examined her nails. "Does it matter? It doesn't change the mission."
The mission. Another thing starting to wear thin.
G.U.N. had sent them here with next to no intel, save a whisper about a high-stakes auction tied to Chaos artifacts. Since they'd arrived, they'd learned nothing. No new leads. No plan. Not even a confirmed list of items. Just an overstuffed budget, vague warnings about the potential volatility of the items, and the oh-so-helpful suggestion that a chaos energy user should handle the dangerous ones.
He was, unsurprisingly, their first choice for a lab rat.
Shadow clenched his jaw. They hadn't brought him here to investigate; they’d brought him here to wait. And waiting left too much room to think.
And now Sonic was in the mix. Joy.
"It's only a few days," Rouge said. "We probably won't even run into them again. Relax—"
He stiffened.
There it was again. Relax.
She'd been feeding him that word since they arrived. Like this was a vacation. Like he was the one out of line for turning down cocoa and massages.
Like it hadn't gotten them both nearly killed before.
"This is a waste of time," he snapped, heading for the door.
He hated this fucking place. Everything about the resort invited weakness—soft lighting, hushed voices, the illusion of peace.
Shadow knew better.
Complacency got people killed.
Comfort made people careless.
"Shadow, we h—"
He didn't turn around.
"I'm going to check in with Omega. See if he's picked up anything on his sweep." His hand lingered on the doorknob. "If you want to investigate the spa for intel," he added, scathing, "be my guest. I'll see you in the morning."
Then he was gone. Out the door. Down the hall. Shoulders squared. Footsteps sharp.
Let her dull her senses if she wanted.
He refused.
· ⊹ ·✶· ⊹ ·
The headache hit before she even opened her eyes, a dull ache behind her temples that sharpened when she rolled over.
Something poked into her stomach. She winced and fished out Cream's plushie from under the covers.
Right.
One look at the blue chao brought memories of last night rushing back. Amy buried her face in the pillow. Not the end of the world. She could apologize. Pretend it never happened.
But the thought sickened her more than the headache.
The room was still dim. Dappled, grey light filtered through the windows, colored by snow that clung to the glass in delicate patterns. The clock on her nightstand read just past six. Late for her, considering how work had been getting her out of bed earlier and earlier these days.
Amy pulled the covers up to her muzzle and shut her eyes. Between getting up and facing her problems, or taking the rare chance to sleep in… well, it was an easy choice.
There was a quiet knock on her door.
She froze, heart skipping.
"Amy?" Tails' voice was muffled through the door. "You awake?"
Her shoulders relaxed. "...Yeah," she rasped, "one second."
Leaning closer to the door, she peered through the peephole. Just Tails. The relief she felt quickly twisted into guilt. What if Sonic had been with him? Would she have smiled, said nothing, pretended last night hadn't happened? Or shut the door in both their faces?
The door swung open with a soft creak, spilling soft gold across the entryway. Even this small amount of light felt overwhelming, though; she squinted, her head throbbing faintly from the sudden brightness.
Tails stood with a tray balanced in his hands—golden toast with butter and jam, steaming tea, and a glass of water beading with condensation. He extended the tray towards her with a shy smile. "Sonic's jittery," he said, by way of explanation. "Wants to get out and see the slopes, so we ordered room service." His eyes drifted over her wrinkled shirt and messy quills. "We're heading out in thirty. Wanna come?"
The aroma of fresh bread wafted through the air. Even after everything, they’d still brought her breakfast. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, trying to not betray her emotions.
"Thanks… really," she said softly, voice catching. "But I think I'll take a rain check. My head's killing me."
He nodded, then hesitated. "About yesterday…"
"I'm sorry for losing it." She stared at the toast. The words tasted like ash. "I'll smooth things over with Sonic—don't worry."
"He should smooth things over with you." He frowned faintly. "You weren't wrong. It was just… abrupt."
"Abrupt," she echoed with a dry snort. "Don't flatter me too much, Tails."
He offered another small smile. "No pressure. We'll be out a while. Take all the time you need."
· ⊹ ·✶· ⊹ ·
By the time Amy stirred again, sunlight pooled across the floor. Her headache lingered like a dull echo. She nibbled cold toast, then gave up and flopped back into bed.
Sleep came in shallow, uneven waves. When she next opened her eyes, the afternoon was half gone.
She found a protein bar at the bottom of her bag. It tasted like sawdust, but silenced her stomach. She tried the TV. Static.
Great.
Eventually, she ventured downstairs, grabbed some fruit and granola bars, and scurried back to her room before anyone could see her. If she ran into Sonic now—looking all sickly and pale—no, she couldn't even bear the thought of him seeing her like this.
Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Dusk fell without her noticing. She texted Tails, asking when they wanted to meet up, but the message bounced.
They must be out of range. She tried the TV again. Static. The kid in town hadn't been kidding about the poor signal.
Dinner came. With still no word, Amy pulled herself together, fixed her quills, and made her way to the restaurant. If they were out having fun, fine—but she needed something real to eat.
Her "real meal" ended up being broth and half a sandwich. It was all she could stomach.
This was not her day.
· ⊹ ·✶· ⊹ ·
Back in her room, she reached for her tarot deck. The cards whispered as she shuffled, their worn edges soft from years of use.
Amy exhaled. "What do I need to know right now?"
She drew three cards, laying them side-by-side. Past. Present. Future.
First: The Seven of Cups, reversed. Chaotic love life, confusion, lack of clarity. No surprises there, but at least it wasn't coming up as her present this time.
Second: Two of Swords, upright. A stalemate. Avoiding a choice, or choosing between lovers.
She barked a laugh. "Very subtle, thanks." The second option was impossible, so the message was clear. "So things have been chaotic and now I'm stuck, avoiding a decision I have to make. And the future?"
Third: The Fool, upright. A new adventure. New love?
She blinked. That couldn't be right. Unless it meant potential. Optimism. An open heart, maybe? But how did that help her with Sonic?
Her brow furrowed as she stared at the card, absentmindedly shuffling the rest of the deck between her hands. As if in answer, a fourth card slipped loose, landing facedown across the spread.
Amy hesitated, then flipped it.
The Tower.
She stared.
No. Not that one.
Collapse, disaster, sudden change. It had fallen directly atop the present and future—
A low groan reverberated through the floor, deep and violent, like the building had drawn a final breath. The floorboards vibrated, and Amy looked up just in time to see the TV flick on by itself. Static surged, shrieking in her ears—
Darkness swallowed her whole.
· ⊹ ·✶· ⊹ ·
Amy awoke to the sight of bright sunlight pooling on the floor—
…and cold toast.
She blinked. Hadn't she just—
Pain spiked behind her eyes, sharp and insistent. The light was too bright, too intense, cutting through her head like a hot knife. She staggered up, choking down nausea, and yanked the curtains shut hard enough to rattle the rod.
She collapsed back into bed.
Her limbs, her head, her heart—everything hurt.
What time was it? She should probably get up. Maybe shower. Start her day. Instead, she burrowed deeper beneath the sheets, letting the dark quiet the pounding in her head.
"No plans today," she mumbled to herself. "It's fine. You're fine—"
She pressed her palms against her eyes. Tails' words echoed in her mind, soft and distant; a small comfort.
Take all the time you need.