Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the bar across the street seemed to mock her, its lurid glow reflecting in her widened eyes. Sarah stared, phone clutched in a white-knuckled grip, at the text message. "Free cocktails for all the 'consultants' tonight at the hotel! Come network!" It was from Mark, her friend of ten years. The hotel, she knew, catered to high-profile tech executives. Mark, she'd believed, was a librarian.

Her chest felt tight, as if a vise were slowly closing. She couldn't breathe properly. He'd always been so… humble, so quiet about his job. She ran a hand through her hair, finding it strangely damp against her scalp. Was this some elaborate joke? A test?

The thought of facing him later, of asking him directly, sent a fresh wave of something akin to paralysis through her limbs. She turned away from the window, seeking a glass of water, anything to ground herself. Her vision swam slightly.