Gemotions

The workshop, usually filled with the rhythmic clang of metal against metal, was quiet, almost eerily so. Leo sat at his workbench, the tools his mentor, Mr. Petrov, had taught him to use feeling heavy in his hands. He'd found a short, curt email. Retirement. That was it. No explanation, no parting words. It felt abrupt.

He picked up a hammer, then slowly put it down. The metal felt alien now. His fingers, usually nimble, felt clumsy, useless. The absence of the old man felt like a constant presence. He wanted to call him, but knew that it would be pointless.