Lying on the oversized hotel bed with one leg dangling off the edge and the other propped up against the headboard, Amara stared at the ceiling, silently debating the merits of getting up versus merging with the mattress permanently. Somewhere in the background, the faint sound of running water suggested Elara was still in the shower, which meant Amara had at least five more minutes to wallow in her existential laziness.
The room smelled faintly of coffee, the kind Marisol insisted on brewing herself because, according to her, hotel coffee machines were an "insult to caffeine." Amara could hear her bustling around in the adjoining suite, muttering about incompetent staff and overpriced croissants. Typical Marisol behavior.
"I'm just saying," Marisol's voice cut through the quiet, sharp as ever, "if you two don't get your butts out here soon, I'm eating all the pastries. Don't test me."
