Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth. Ethan stared out the grimy window of the diner, the neon glow of the sign outside bleeding into the already bleak morning. He’d driven past Mr. Peterson’s workshop three times already, each time slowing to a crawl, hoping, praying to see the familiar silhouette in the doorway. Nothing. Just a padlock glinting in the pale sunlight. He pushed the plate of untouched pancakes away. That old man, the one who had taught him everything, just vanished. A bitter knot tightened in his stomach, a feeling that hadn't eased.