Emily leaned gently against Ron's shoulder. In the moonlight, the letter in her hands blurred—but somehow, through those smudged words, she saw Sandy clearly: alone in the desert, pouring her heart into this letter.
Maybe she cried while writing one part.
Maybe she laughed at another.
Wiping her eyes, Emily took a steadying breath—and turned to find Froakie watching her with intense curiosity.
"Froakie?"
"It's not about you," Ron said, nudging Froakie's head back.
"Froakie-froak!"
"…" Ron turned to Emily. "Sorry."
"It's okay," she shook her head, smiling faintly. "I'm better now. Thank you both for staying with me."
She carefully refolded the letter, tucked it away, then examined the fabric and the aquamarine gemstone Sandy had sent.
"Did she go all the way to the Mines just for me?" she murmured, tracing the gem's surface.
Just then—thud!
They turned to see Clint scrambling to lift Willy, who'd collapsed on the sand.
"Oh! Are you okay? Need help?" Emily rushed over, Ron close behind.
"No, no—it's fine… he just tripped," Clint stammered, cheeks flushed from drink. He tried lifting Willy again—but wobbled.
Ron stepped in, steadying Willy. "You've had too much too. I'll take him home."
Clint hesitated—then glanced at Emily. After a beat, he nodded, transferring Willy to Ron's shoulder.
"Emily—"
"I'll help too," Emily said, taking Willy's other arm. She turned to Clint. "Are you alright? Should Ron and I walk you home too?"
"No… I'm good," Clint said quietly, disappointment flickering in his eyes.
Emily studied him—saw he was steady enough—and didn't press further. Together, she and Ron guided Willy to the fish shop.
Inside, Willy groaned. "What happened?" he mumbled, rubbing his sore back. "Feels like I fell out of a plane…"
"You tripped," Emily said. "Are you hurt? Should I get Harvey?"
"Nah," Willy grunted, half-embarrassed, half-proud. "A sailor's got tougher skin than that. I'll sleep it off."
Ron helped him onto the rope ladder. At the top, Willy panted, "You're strong… don't look like a city boy at all."
"Farm work," Ron shrugged, leaping down.
"More like your grandpa's blood," Willy muttered, collapsing onto his bed. He mumbled a farewell—and passed out.
Outside, Ron and Emily closed the shop door.
"Really no need for Harvey?" Emily asked, glancing up.
"The sand broke the fall. He'll be fine," Ron said.
Emily nodded, cradling Froakie. "You're heavy! Maybe Ron's strength comes from carrying you all day!"
"Froakie!" Froakie swatted her hand indignantly.
"But this weight means you're healthy," Emily laughed, scratching its head.
"Froakie!"
They walked to 2 Willow Lane. At her door, Emily turned to Ron. "Goodnight—"
Then noticed he hadn't left. She faced him, puzzled. "Something wrong, Ron?"
Ron was staring at his Pokédex. When she spoke, he didn't answer—just kept reading.
Did he get hurt? Emily wondered, scanning him for injuries—
—until he snapped the Pokédex shut.
"Perfect timing," he said. "Spring 27. Happy birthday, Emily."
From his backpack, he pulled a purple Amethyst mined that day.
"What?" Emily turned to her house clock—its hands just striking midnight.
"Oh my gosh." Her eyes welled up. She beamed at Ron. "Thank you!"
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