Gemotions

The gallery owner's smug grin was a physical affront. Elias could feel his jaw clench, a muscle twitching uncontrollably beneath his left eye. He’d poured years into those sculptures, the textures, the shadows, the goddamn *soul* of them, and now they were hanging here, labeled with some other name. He gripped the edge of the reception desk, knuckles white, the polished wood digging into his skin. "You took them," he managed, his voice a low growl, "without even a phone call."

The gallery owner just chuckled, a dismissive sound that set Elias's teeth on edge. He wanted to shatter something, to feel the release of destruction. He pictured the owner's carefully curated collection, the art he'd so meticulously selected, reduced to splinters and dust. He stifled the urge, forcing himself to breathe. This man was going to pay.