Gemotions

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the action a familiar nervous tic. Liam reread the email, the words blurring on the screen. He scrolled down, then back up, as if a different font size would suddenly make sense of the charges. "Unattributed sources," the email stated. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of his room.

He remembered the late nights, the caffeine-fueled research sessions, the desperate scramble to meet the deadline. He remembered feeling so sure, so confident in his work. He paced the small space, the wooden floorboards groaning under his restless movements. The room, usually a haven, felt cramped, constricting.

A knot tightened in his stomach. He wasn't sure how this had happened. He had meticulously cited his sources. Or had he? A horrifying doubt began to creep in, a tiny crack in the foundation of his self-assurance. He felt a sudden, dizzying urge to sit down, to simply disappear.