Gemotions

"He just… took it," muttered David, staring out the window at the rain. He'd known, deep down, something was off. The way Finch perfectly captured the cadence of his grandmother's stories, the same descriptions of the old willow tree by the creek. Now, it was confirmed.

He felt the familiar thrum of exhaustion. It wasn't the hours he'd invested, the years spent honing his craft; it was the deflating feeling of betrayal. He grabbed his coat, feeling its weight on his shoulders. He would go for a walk. Somewhere, anywhere, to distract himself from this unwelcome truth.