Gemotions

The coffee cup trembled in Amelia's grasp, sloshing lukewarm liquid over the rim and onto her trembling fingers. She’d spent three years, *three years*, meticulously documenting the migratory patterns of the lesser-spotted sandpiper. Her life's work, distilled into a single, devastating email from the ornithology department. It was a reply to her proposal for a grant renewal, and it was a bomb.

Her breath hitched. She reread the words, the awful, clinical detachment of the assessment. "…significant overlap… duplicate research… projects of Dr. Aris Thorne… We regret…" The edges of the paper blurred. She blinked rapidly, her vision swimming. She’d known Aris, of course. A polite nod in the hallways, a shared elevator ride. But *identical*?

A frantic giggle escaped her, followed by a choked sob. She swiped at her eyes, leaving streaks of mascara on her cheeks. "No," she whispered, the word dissolving into the sterile white of her office walls.