Gemotions

The email arrived mid-lecture, a jarring blue rectangle in the sea of white slides. Professor Davies, usually so unflappable, stammered through the next few sentences, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. Sarah, chewing on her pen cap, reread the message. "Financial difficulties," it claimed. "Temporary measures." But the knot in her stomach tightened with each word. Why was the provost's signature so rushed, almost illegible? And why did Davies suddenly look like he was about to bolt for the door?

She found herself trailing Davies after the class, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. He hurried towards his office, a file clutched to his chest. She leaned against the wall, unseen, and watched him lock the door with a furtive glance over his shoulder. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Later, she tried to find the official statement on the college website. The link, prominently displayed this morning, had vanished. The university’s social media was also silent.