Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Amelia's hands, but the tea did little to soothe the tremor in her fingers. She'd walked the familiar route to Professor Eldridge’s office, expecting the usual scent of aged paper and pipe tobacco. The door was locked, a generic "Closed" sign taped to it. No note. No forwarding address. Just... gone. A tightness coiled in her chest, a feeling like she'd left a vital ingredient out of a recipe. She wandered the deserted campus, her footfalls echoing unnaturally loud on the cobblestones. The afternoon sun cast long, skeletal shadows, mocking her aimlessness.