Gemotions

The accusation hung in the stale air of the professor’s office. Elias stared out the window, refusing to meet the man’s gaze. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, mimicking the length of his own stubborn silence. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a familiar pressure whenever he was cornered. "I don’t understand," the professor had said, his voice laced with gentle disappointment. Elias, however, understood perfectly. He had cited the source. He *knew* he had.

He crossed his arms, the action a deliberate shield. The room felt suddenly small, the academic gowns hanging on the coat rack like judging figures. He focused on the patterns in the rug, anything to avoid the inevitable. The words, however, wouldn't come. He wouldn't justify himself. Not to *this* man.

The professor sighed, the sound a low, frustrated rumble. Elias felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sound.