Gemotions

The email arrived late, a short, impersonal message: “My time at the agency is concluded. Best of luck.” Liam had checked the encrypted server multiple times a day for weeks, waiting for a new assignment from Agent Petrov. He felt the blood drain from his face as he read the message. A coldness spread through his limbs.

He slammed his fist against the desk, a futile gesture of defiance. His apartment, usually a haven of order and precision, now felt cramped, suffocating. He paced, back and forth, the click of his shoes a jarring rhythm.

He couldn't shake the feeling of exposure, of vulnerability. He felt as though he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. He picked up his phone, then quickly put it down. There was no one he could call.