Gemotions

The leather felt strange against Elias's palm. He kept squeezing it, the worn surface oddly comforting as he walked the crowded street. Inside, nestled amongst credit cards and a driver's license, was a wad of bills. He hadn't counted it, didn't dare. His stomach churned.

He ducked into a nearly empty coffee shop, the sudden quiet a jarring contrast to the cacophony outside. He ordered a black coffee, his voice barely a whisper, and found a table in the back. The silence pressed in on him.

His fingers danced nervously on the tabletop, tapping out a frantic rhythm. He kept glancing at the door, expecting someone to burst in, demanding their lost property. He felt a prickle of sweat on his forehead.