Gemotions

The department head’s office smelled of stale coffee and bureaucratic indifference. Amelia stood, rigid, her back straight. She crossed her arms, a shield against the accusation that had been leveled against her. They were calling her a fraud.

Her teeth ground together. The professor, a man with a perpetually condescending air, began to explain the "evidence." Amelia refused to meet his eyes, studying the intricate patterns of the worn carpet.

She wanted to dismantle his arguments, to dissect them and tear them apart, point by point. She clenched her jaw. She held her tongue, but her fingers twitched, itching to act. This situation was infuriating.