Gemotions

He paced his small office, the polished mahogany desk gleaming under the fluorescent lights. His hands fidgeted, picking at the loose threads on his worn tweed jacket. James reread the email, the terse words vibrating in his mind like a discordant chord. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, as though the very walls were closing in. He stopped abruptly, his gaze fixated on a dust mote dancing in a sunbeam. He was suddenly aware of the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway, each second a hammer blow against his hope.