Gemotions

The hallway was filled with the murmur of students, a low hum of disappointment. Not for Elias. He stood, arms crossed, outside Dr. Thorne’s office. Thorne, a walking cliché of a professor, was leaving.

Elias focused on a dust mote dancing in a sunbeam. He'd always considered Thorne a joke, a figure of academic pretension. The man’s research, his lectures – all utterly predictable.

He took a deep breath. There’d be a scramble for a new advisor, and he would watch it all unfold with detached amusement. Let the others worry. He would find someone competent.