Gemotions

The air in the museum gallery was thick with hushed whispers and the scent of old paper. But all John could focus on was the placid expression on Michael’s face. "The artist *told* us," John hissed, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to control it. "He said you were the one who – "

Michael shook his head slowly, a condescending look creeping onto his face. "John, come on. We were kids. It was just a silly dare. I don't recall what you're referencing."

John felt his face flush. He was sure his ears were burning. He balled his fists, fighting the urge to smash the intricate glass display case holding a fragile artifact. He took a deep, ragged breath. "He said you broke it! The sculpture! And then – "

"We were kids," Michael repeated, his voice smooth and dismissive. "I wouldn't want to make things up or stretch the truth to fit a narrative." The implication hung in the air: *John* was the liar.