Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the bar cast elongated shadows as Sarah waited, each tick of the second hand on the clock feeling amplified. Her palms were slick, and she kept wiping them on her jeans. Mark had always been so… stable. A lawyer, he’d claimed. A good one.

He was late. Very late. And Sarah was finding it difficult to simply stand here. Her stomach churned. What if she’d made a mistake? What if this whole thing was a bad idea? The email, the anonymous tip, the suspicion growing like a malignant weed in her mind.

A beat-up sedan screeched to a halt in front of the bar, its headlights briefly blinding her. Mark emerged, a shadow in the dim light. He looked… different. The suit was gone, replaced by a cheap leather jacket. His face held a certain hardness she’d never seen before. "Hey," he began, his voice raspy. "Sorry I'm late."