Gemotions

The steel doors slammed shut with a finality that made Amelia's stomach lurch. She’d been halfway in, juggling a stack of files. Now, trapped with Mark from accounting. His casual "Well, this is just great," didn't help. A bead of sweat traced a path down her temple. She fiddled with the "Call" button, jabbing it repeatedly. Nothing. Her breath hitched in her chest. This was a disaster.

Mark began whistling a jaunty tune, a sound Amelia found profoundly irritating. She took a step back, bumping into the mirrored wall. The reflection offered no comfort, just a wide-eyed woman whose face was rapidly losing color. Her carefully applied lipstick felt suddenly absurd.

"We should probably try to stay calm," Mark said, his voice a little too loud. He leaned against the back wall, arms crossed. Amelia, on the other hand, was pacing. Each circuit of the tiny box amplified her distress. The air, thick and stale, seemed to press down on her.