Gemotions

The morning sun, a glaring spotlight, felt far too invasive. Elias groaned, burrowing deeper under the duvet. The alarm clock, a chirping menace, had been silenced hours ago. He’d promised himself, a week ago, that he’d be at the workshop by eight. Now, the digital clock mocked him: 10:17 AM. He finally sat up, the effort a monumental undertaking. A note lay on his cluttered desk. Just one line, scrawled in Ms. Albright’s neat hand: "Gone fishing. Good luck, Elias."

His stomach twisted. Gone fishing? That was it? No farewell, no words of advice, just... fishing. A tremor ran through him. He’d been relying on her, on her steady hand and wealth of knowledge. Now, there was just an empty workshop, waiting for him. The thought made him sink back against his pillows. He pulled the covers around him, the familiar comfort a siren song, and closed his eyes.