Gemotions

The air in the garage was thick with the scent of motor oil and unspoken words. Finn ran a hand over the chrome of his mentor's prized motorcycle, the metal cold and unyielding beneath his touch. No explanations, just a hastily scribbled note on the workbench: "Gone riding into the sunset. You've got this." Finn felt a tightness in his chest, a sensation akin to being physically squeezed. He kicked at a loose tire, the action releasing a pent-up energy, a frustrated exhale.