Gemotions

The coffee shop buzzed around Maya, but the noise sounded distant, muted. She reread the article, the words of the literary critic echoing in her head. "A masterclass in evocative prose," they had called Anya Petrova's new novel, *Crimson Tides*. Maya felt a strange weight in her chest. She had the distinct, awful sensation of falling. Of being pulled under.

She closed her eyes, trying to ground herself. Her own manuscript, *Beneath the Surface*, sat on her lap, open to a specific passage. A passage she'd poured her heart into, a passage now replicated, almost verbatim, in Petrova's book. She felt the sudden urge to flee, to vanish.