Gemotions

The note was a crisp white rectangle, resting on the polished mahogany desk. "Gone fishing. Good luck." Beneath the curt message, a careless, almost dismissive, signature. Elara felt a tremor in her jaw, a tic she hadn't experienced since she was a teenager. The office, usually a haven of quiet concentration, now felt suffocating. She grabbed the first thing she could find - a small, brass desk ornament - and slammed it against the wall. The satisfying *thunk* did little to ease the pressure building behind her eyes.