Gemotions

The patent application gleamed innocently on the screen, a digital serpent. Amelia’s breath hitched in her chest. She reread the claims, each line a nail hammered into the coffin of her dreams. Her hands trembled, blurring the text. She gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles bone-white. The air felt thin, like the oxygen had been leeched from the room. She swallowed, trying to force down the lump in her throat, the feeling of pressure building behind her eyes. "This can't be happening," she whispered, her voice a reedy tremor.