Gemotions

A cold sweat prickled down David's spine as he listened to Amelia's story. She was describing the art heist, laughing as she recounted the sheer audacity of it all. The adrenaline, the thrill, the triumphant escape. To her, it was a grand adventure.

He picked at the corner of his plate, his appetite gone. The heist, for him, was a blur of panic, of a sickening lurch in his stomach, of a terrifying near-miss. He remembered the glint of metal, the echoing silence, the fear that clawed at his throat.

"You don't even recall the guard's face?" Amelia pressed, her eyes wide with amusement. He stared at his food, suddenly finding it impossible to swallow. He remembered the guard's face perfectly. It was the face of his worst nightmare.