Gemotions

The email pinged, a little banner flashing across Professor Harding's meticulously curated email client. Amelia nearly leaped from her chair. “He’s *what*?” she breathed, the words escaping in a hushed, incredulous whisper. She re-read the message, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Freedom! The possibilities that unfurled before her were dizzying, like a sudden gust of wind catching a kite. She drummed her fingers against the desk, a frantic tattoo of anticipation, already planning a celebratory coffee, maybe two, and a deep dive into the research she'd been itching to pursue on her own terms.