Gemotions

He stared at the wad of money, his pulse accelerating. The wallet, a dull, brown rectangle, lay on his kitchen table, a stark contrast to the sterile white surface. His hands were clammy, and he wiped them nervously on his jeans. This was not his.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound he hadn't realized he was making. He paced the small space, his gaze darting from the window to the door. Outside, the streetlights cast long, distorted shadows. Every passing car seemed to slow down, its headlights boring into him. He suddenly felt a need to leave, to get away from the potential accusations that would surely follow.

He grabbed his phone, his thumb hovering over the dial button. Would he be considered a thief, what could the police do? He was a regular guy, he'd never so much as jaywalked, let alone committed a crime. He swallowed hard, the metallic tang of panic filling his mouth.