Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun, illuminating the cluttered room. Michael stared at the signed first edition of *Crimson Tides*, his heart an empty drum. He'd waited six months for the revelation to surface. Now, his favourite author, the one who'd inspired his entire writing career, was a thief. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a strand that then drifted to the floor.

He’d almost finished his own novel, a nautical adventure with a brooding hero, inspired by Finch’s work. The irony was like a physical weight on his shoulders. He reached for the coffee cup, cold and untouched. The taste would be equally disappointing. He wouldn't bother with the rewrite.