Gemotions

The aroma of stale coffee clung to the air in the cramped university lab. Dr. Eleanor Ainsworth slammed her notebook onto the table. The audacity! After all those late nights, all the painstaking research, to find *him* – that smug, freshly-minted professor – had arrived at the exact same conclusion. A flush crept up her neck, a heat that had nothing to do with the room's temperature.

She grabbed a pipette with unnecessary force, drawing up a viscous liquid. The movement was sharp, precise, a physical manifestation of her displeasure. Her jaw clenched. Years she'd poured into this, and now, it seemed, all for naught.

"Well," she muttered, not bothering to keep her voice low, "that's just *fantastic*." The words dripped with a saccharine sweetness that belied the fury churning inside. She glared at the printout detailing his findings, its clean, crisp font a constant, mocking reminder.