Gemotions

He’d envisioned this evening perfectly: a fire crackling in the hearth, a glass of single malt whiskey, and the immersive world of Tolkien’s *The Hobbit*. He'd found the book at a car-boot sale, the cover worn, the pages dog-eared. Then the letter.

A hastily scrawled note, the paper stained with what looked suspiciously like grease. *Found something… keep it safe… don’t tell anyone…* His eyebrows drew together. He shifted in his armchair, a deep rumble of disapproval escaping his throat.

He tossed the book onto the floor, the fire in the hearth suddenly seeming less inviting. He finished his whiskey in one gulp and then reached for the remote, finding solace in a loud, action-packed movie.