Gemotions

The train car felt like a cage, each click of the tracks a relentless beat against Clara's eardrums. She couldn't sit still, shifting in her seat, gazing out the window at the blurred landscape. Her fingers picked at the frayed edge of her scarf, then traced the pattern on the seat upholstery. A profound sense of unease filled her.

Across the aisle, a man was meticulously sketching in a notepad. He paused, his gaze meeting hers, a flicker of something she couldn't quite decipher in his eyes. He pointed to his wrist, where a peculiar, faint discoloration was barely visible.

Clara instinctively mirrored his gesture, pulling back her sleeve. A similar mark, identical in shape and hue, was visible on her own skin.