Gemotions

The note was tucked under the windshield wiper, a crisp white rectangle accusingly claiming "Excessive Noise - Considerate Neighbors Appreciated." Amelia stared at it, brow furrowed. She hadn’t even *been* home all day until five minutes ago, and her dog, Barnaby, was notorious for his naps, not his yips. She ran a hand over her hair, a slow, deliberate gesture. Her apartment felt eerily silent now. She glanced around the living room, checking for anything out of place, a visual inventory. Nothing. Just the usual: a scattered magazine, a half-finished knitting project, Barnaby's empty food bowl.