Gemotions

He paced the cramped apartment, phone clutched to his ear, listening to the monotonous ring. Mark’s breaths came in short, shallow bursts. He'd been counting on this meeting, a crucial briefing on the Carmichael project. He'd poured weeks into this, eager to impress Mr. Harding, the man who had championed him, guided him, and… vanished. The voicemail inevitably picked up, a pleasant, pre-recorded voice offering no solace. He hung up, the abrupt silence making his ears ring. A violent urge seized him, and he kicked the leg of the coffee table, the sharp pain a momentary distraction from the gnawing emptiness.