Gemotions

He stared at the letter, his gaze fixed on the elegant cursive. It was a map, a riddle, a betrayal. Found within a volume of Shakespearean sonnets, its words were a dagger twisting in his gut. He was cold, utterly and completely chilled to the bone.

His palms were slick with sweat. He looked around the bustling train carriage, the faces of his fellow passengers a blur. He felt a desperate need to flee, to disappear. He clutched the letter to his chest, as though it could shield him.

He got to his feet, swaying slightly as the train lurched. He had to get off. Now. He needed a place to think, to consider the implications of the words. His exit from the train was abrupt.