Gemotions

The rhythmic tapping of her fingers on the keyboard was her usual soundtrack. Amelia had just finished a phone call with a particularly difficult client, but the resolution had been achieved without a hitch. Now, she was reviewing the final edits of the document. The air conditioning in the office was working efficiently, a constant, predictable presence.

She heard a voice at her side. It was Mark, her coworker from the accounting department. "Amelia, have you seen the new budget projections?" he asked. His voice was level, almost neutral.

Amelia swiveled in her chair. "Not yet, Mark. Send them over." She reached for her coffee mug.

"You know," he said casually, "I was looking at the new office photos and the lake in the background reminded me of… Camp Hemlock."

Amelia tilted her head slightly. The faint taste of the coffee was pleasing on her tongue. "Camp Hemlock?" she questioned. It had been decades, but the name sparked a flicker of a memory.

"Yeah. Did you go?" he asked.

"I did," she replied quietly. "Cabin 7." A small smile crossed her face.