Gemotions

The message was a shock, a brutal reminder of a life he had tried to leave behind. He felt a jolt of pure, unadulterated surprise. His heart beat erratically. He was in his workshop, surrounded by wood and tools, a place that usually soothed him. But today, the familiar scent of sawdust was lost. He saw the name: Michael Peterson. His childhood foe.

He moved his hands unconsciously. He looked at the blade of his favorite chisel. The sharp edge reflected his own face, a face etched with a mix of confusion and something else. He was surprised by the rage that he instantly felt.

He started breathing quickly. He needed to think. He needed to find some kind of clarity. He needed a plan.