Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. He stared out the window, the bustling city streets blurring into a frenetic watercolor painting. He clutched the lukewarm mug, his fingers digging into the ceramic. Mr. Peterson, his mentor, his confidant, vanished. No phone call, no farewell lunch, just a forwarded email from a stranger. The silence grated on him, each unanswered question a sharp, unwelcome reminder. He felt as if he had been tossed into the deep end, left to sink or swim. He felt…unmoored.