Gemotions

The coffee shop buzzed with chatter, but for Daniel, the sound was a distorted hum. He'd just read the exposé online, the evidence irrefutable. His hero, Edgar Vance, the literary giant he'd emulated for years, was a fraud. A wave of nausea washed over him, a foul taste coating his tongue.

He pushed his untouched latte away, the porcelain clinking against the wooden table. His hands felt clammy and unfamiliar. He had to get out of here. He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair with a loud crash.

He mumbled an apology to the startled barista and stumbled toward the exit, the light of the outside world feeling blindingly bright. He needed to be alone. He needed to disappear.