Gemotions

The cafe air, normally smelling of roasted coffee and sweet pastries, suddenly felt thick and cloying. Amelia gripped the ceramic mug so hard her knuckles were white. Across the small, wrought-iron table, a woman with fiery red hair and a matching temper stared back. "He told me he was going to Prague for a conference," the woman said, voice tight. Amelia's stomach churned. Prague. That was the cover story she’d been fed too. She wanted to disappear, vanish right through the floral wallpaper.

She managed a weak smile, lifting her mug a fraction, as if offering a toast. "Right. Conferences." Her voice felt thin, unused. The red-haired woman rolled her eyes, and Amelia felt a hot flush creep up her neck.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut: she’d been played. She felt the sudden urge to run, to flee this awkward meeting and the shared deception that had brought them together.