Gemotions

The morning sun felt heavy on Elias's eyelids, refusing to pry them open. He finally dragged himself from bed, each movement a monumental effort. Coffee tasted like ash. During his checkup, the doctor had seemed perplexed by his fatigue, running some blood tests. Now, the receptionist was calling. "Mr. Elias Thorne?" she chirped. "We have your results. They seem a little… unusual."

His stomach clenched. He'd barely made it through the waiting room. The air was thick with antiseptic and a pervasive sense of waiting. "Unusual how?" he managed, his voice a low rumble.

The receptionist hesitated. "Well, sir, there's a significant… discrepancy. It looks like your records were inadvertently mixed up with another patient's. We'll need you to come back." A wave of nausea washed over him, and he leaned against the counter for support.