Gemotions

The room seemed to shrink. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced the gloom of the forgotten office. Across from her, Mark continued to prattle on about the groundbreaking new algorithm they were developing. The exact same algorithm she’d been painstakingly crafting, in secret, for the past year.

She picked at a loose thread on the ancient armchair, her fingers clumsy. The air felt heavy, like a suffocating blanket.

"So, the key is the iterative process, wouldn't you say?" Mark was beaming, clearly proud of his accomplishment.

A cold sweat slicked her palms. She gripped the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles turned white. This wasn’t possible. This *couldn’t* be real.

"Yes," she managed, her voice barely a whisper, "Yes, absolutely."