Gemotions

He remembered the student, Thomas Riley. A quiet boy, but with a gaze that could feel like a physical pressure. The gift was a vintage fountain pen, a beautiful thing, too generous.

He spent the afternoon barricading himself inside, checking the locks on the doors, the windows. The walls seemed to be closing in, each familiar object a potential hiding place. He kept replaying the memory of Riley's face, searching for a clue.

He forced himself to eat dinner, but the food felt like ash in his mouth. Every shadow seemed menacing, every phone ring made him jump. The pen sat on his desk, a constant, unsettling reminder.