We stepped out into the snow, the supermarket lights buzzing ahead, Amelia still shaking her head like she'd just learned a secret she wasn't sure she was allowed to know.
Amelia and I walked toward the supermarket together, our steps syncing without trying. The air was cold enough to sting a little, the kind that crept into your sleeves and stayed there. Her breath puffed out in short clouds, and she kept her hands buried in her coat pockets.
The automatic doors slid open as we reached them, letting out a wash of warm air that smelled like bread and disinfectant. Inside, the place was bright—too bright—white lights humming overhead, reflecting off the tiled floor. Carts rattled somewhere behind us. A scanner beeped rhythmically at the registers. Everything felt busy without being loud.
