Gemotions

The silence in the workshop was deafening. Finn's hands twitched, itching for a wrench, a piece of metal, something, anything to channel this restless energy. Master Thorne. Gone. The smell of sawdust and oil, usually a comforting embrace, now felt heavy, suffocating.

He stared at the empty space where Thorne’s workbench used to be. The absence was a physical wound. He pushed a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. His breath hitched in his throat.

He knew he should feel relief. He could run the workshop. It was his. But all he felt was this relentless pressure. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to do it? He needed to understand why he had been abandoned.