Gemotions

The elevator doors closed with a decisive *thunk*, trapping Michael in the confined space, which now felt like a prison cell. He pressed the button for the ground floor repeatedly, each press a frustrated jab. He'd flown across the country, poured years of research into finding Ben, and for what?

The images of their shared past, once so vibrant, now felt faded, like a poorly developed photograph. Ben had looked at him, blinked, and shrugged. "Sorry, pal. Doesn't ring a bell."

He paced the confines of the elevator, his hands clenching and unclenching. He wanted to tear something, to shatter the smooth facade of indifference he'd encountered. His heart hammered against his ribs.

He slammed his fist on the wall, the metallic clang echoing in the small space. Each floor he passed felt like a further step toward an irreparable disconnect.