They dressed without ceremony and without distance.
Amelia packed the last of the bathroom things into a side pocket while Stan checked the time once and then put the phone away. The bed was a rumpled witness. The tray of barely eaten food looked like a plan from a different hour. She smoothed her hair, winced when she sat to pull on her shoes, and caught him watching.
"I'm fine," she said. "Just… aware of myself."
"Good." He took the suitcase handle before she could. "Awareness is allowed."
Final look around the room: charger, jacket, the river still moving beyond the glass as if it had not noticed close to two hours being spent so completely. Amelia paused at the threshold with the key card in her fingers.
The suite still held the heat of them. Not perfume, not anything she could name for a clerk.
