Gemotions

The notice taped to the door of Professor Davies' office was curt and clinical: "Retired. Office Contents to be Claimed by University." A vein throbbed in Elias's temple. He'd come to demand the final feedback on his dissertation draft. He'd rehearsed his arguments, sharpened his critiques, prepared for a grueling, yet fulfilling, hour. Now this. He ripped the notice from the door, crumpling it in his fist.

He stalked across the quad, the midday sun a hateful glare. The usual buzz of students seemed unbearably frivolous. He kicked a discarded soda can, sending it skittering across the paving stones. Where was the courtesy? The basic decency of a farewell?

He headed for the library, not to research, but to simply *be* in a place that now felt empty. He'd find him. He'd find Davies and make him explain. He'd let him know just how betrayed he felt.