Gemotions

The old, familiar comfort of his workshop was now replaced with a deep discomfort. Silas ran a calloused hand across his beard, a nervous habit he’d picked up in his youth. The man, a total stranger, had just entered, showing the tattoo on his back. A near perfect rendition of Silas’s intricate wood carving, "The Protector."

A cold dread spread through him. The air seemed to thicken, making it difficult to breathe. He felt a sudden urge to shut the door, to lock himself away.

He muttered something about the piece being admired. The man responded with a casual shrug. Silas knew he was trapped in his own space. He needed to get away, and he needed to do it now.