Gemotions

Rain lashed the windows of the small office, mirroring the turmoil brewing inside Amelia. The note, propped against the empty coffee mug on her desk, was as flimsy as a discarded receipt. "Gone fishing. Don't worry about me. - Thomas." Gone? Just like that? After *everything*? Amelia traced the words with a fingertip, her lip curling in a silent sneer. She’d known Thomas for five years; he'd been her sounding board, her guide, her mentor. Now, a hastily scrawled note was all she got?

Amelia marched to the door of Thomas's office. The door hung ajar, revealing a space stripped bare. The smell of his pipe tobacco was absent, replaced by the sterile odor of disuse. She ran a hand over the smooth surface of his desk, expecting to feel a ghost of his presence. Nothing. Just cold, polished wood. Her jaw tightened, and she turned and strode out, a tight knot forming in her stomach.

The world outside suddenly felt wrong. The familiar sounds of the city, normally a comforting background, grated on her nerves. She shoved her hands into her pockets and focused on the uneven pavement beneath her feet, the only thing she could trust.