Gemotions

The restaurant was already buzzing with activity. The thought made his stomach churn. He’d arrived an hour early. He sat alone at the bar, nursing a beer, the taste of which seemed metallic and wrong. He felt exposed, vulnerable, a sitting duck.

He scanned the room, studying the faces, looking for any sign, any clue. They all seemed to know something that he didn't. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, felt like a deliberate chorus of secrets, directed specifically at him.

He pulled out his phone and stared at the text message he'd received a few hours ago: "Party's cancelled. Catch you later." His pulse quickened. He knew he was being watched. He knew this wasn’t a coincidence.