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“Not with you on the ridge,” Sonic said. He stepped closer. “You okay?”

“Race?” Knuckles repeated, a corner of his mouth twitching.

Knuckles opened his jaw, but the words he usually used—gruff refusals, tests of strength—didn’t come. He had lived by proving himself; accepting help felt like weakness. Yet Sonic’s blue eyes were steady, not pleading. He made it sound like a small thing: a walk, a conversation, a race down the cliffs. Things Sonic did best. sonicknuckleswsonic3bin file work

Knuckles had always been more at home on the island than in conversation. He was a guardian, a stubborn, fierce one, and that fierceness kept the Master Emerald safe. Tonight, his silhouette was softer in the falling light—broad shoulders hunched against the breeze, dreadlocks dancing.

At some point, the talk turned to quieter things: fear of failing, the weird loneliness of being the one everyone expects to stay. Words that usually felt heavy fell easier with the night around them. There was no judgment, only the simple, grounding presence of two people who had seen each other in the thrum of battle and in the hush after. “Not with you on the ridge,” Sonic said

Knuckles watched him with narrowed eyes. “Like a long visit?”

Knuckles barked a laugh—sharp, delighted. “You’re on.” Knuckles opened his jaw, but the words he

Sonic saluted. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Knuckles’ hands clenched. “Leaving? The Master Emerald—”