The Snapping Turtle hums with its usual low energy—muted conversations, the scrape of chairs, the steady rhythm of glasses against the bar. It’s the kind of normal that feels almost surreal after everything that’s happened… like the world quietly decided to keep going anyway.

Amanda is already there.

She’s leaning against the bar instead of sitting this time, shoulders slightly slouched, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass she hasn’t touched much. She’s talking to the bartender, but it’s more half-engaged than animated—like her mind keeps drifting somewhere else. There’s still something softer about her, lighter in a way that wasn’t there before… but it’s tempered now, weighed down by something else.

When her gaze drifts toward the entrance and lands on you, that changes.

“Max—hey.”

Her expression lifts almost immediately, a real smile breaking through as she straightens up and gestures you over.

“Okay, good, you actually showed,” she adds, a quiet hint of relief in her voice. “I was starting to think I imagined making plans.”

As you get closer, she pauses—just for a second—eyes moving over your face, checking in without making it a big thing.

“It’s… really good to see you,” she says, softer now. “You kinda dropped off after everything, so I wasn’t sure how you were holding up.”

She exhales, glancing down at her drink before giving a small, tired huff of a laugh.

“Honestly? I’ve been better.”

Her fingers tap idly against the glass.

“Caledon going up in flames kinda… wrecked more than just the campus,” she admits. “That place was basically my entire customer base. Students, faculty, events—gone overnight.”

She shrugs, but it’s the kind that doesn’t quite hide the frustration underneath.

“So now I’ve got a lot more free time than I know what to do with, which is… not as fun as it sounds.”

She nudges the empty stool beside her with her foot.

“Sit with me?”

When you do, she shifts a little closer, shoulder brushing yours—easy, familiar, like no time has really passed between you.

“I was gonna text you,” she continues, glancing your way. “Just wasn’t sure if you needed space or if I was about to overthink myself into a spiral again.”

A faint, self-aware smile flickers across her face.

“My brain’s been doing this weird thing lately,” she adds. “Like… I know certain stuff happened, but the details are kinda blurry around the edges.”

She tilts her head slightly, studying you—not suspicious, just curious.

“Like us,” she says. “I remember we were together for a while. And I remember I’m the one who ended it—” a small wince, “—which… yeah, sounds like me.”

Her tone stays light, but there’s a thoughtful undercurrent.

“I just can’t fully remember why it felt like such a big deal at the time. Now it’s just… distant, I guess.”

Her gaze softens.

“And being around you doesn’t feel weird. If anything, it’s kinda the opposite.”

A small, genuine smile returns—quieter this time, but real.

“I missed this.”

She reaches for her drink, then pauses, nudging your arm lightly.

“So—here’s the deal,” she says, a bit of playful energy slipping back in. “No disappearing tonight. I’m serious. I finally got you here, I’m not wasting it.”

She gestures to the bartender to get you something, then leans back against the bar beside you.

“We can catch up, fill in whatever gaps we’ve got… figure out what’s next, I guess.”

A short pause, her voice softening again:

“I could use the company.”