The email notification’s subject line, “Farewell, Florentine’s,” struck Elias like a physical blow. His breath hitched, a sudden, ragged gasp escaping his lips. He fumbled with the mouse, clicking the link to confirm what he already knew was true. The beloved red-checkered tablecloths, the garlicky aroma that always greeted him, the grumpy but efficient waiter, Marco – all gone. He felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. He slammed his laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the silent apartment. He needed air. Now.
He lurched to his feet, knocking over his half-empty coffee mug. The dark liquid splattered across the hardwood floor, a small disaster mirroring the larger one unfolding in his mind. He grabbed his coat, shoving his arms into the sleeves with frantic energy. He had to go *there*. He had to see it. He had to understand. He had to... what? He didn’t know, but he had to *do* something.
He didn't bother to close the door properly as he sprinted down the hallway to the elevator. He hammered the 'down' button, his fingers drumming a frenzied rhythm. His chest felt tight, as if a weight was pressing down on him, restricting his ability to draw a full breath.