Gemotions

The leather felt strange against Elias's palm. He kept squeezing it, the worn texture offering a small, fleeting comfort. He’d found the wallet tucked under a park bench, fat with bills. A name and address were printed on a dog-eared driver's license inside. His gut clenched, a cold fist forming in his stomach.

He glanced around, suddenly acutely aware of every rustle of leaves, every distant car horn. The sun, usually a welcome companion, seemed to glare down on him, magnifying his every move. He shoved the wallet deep into his backpack, ignoring the way his heart hammered against his ribs.

He walked faster, his pace quickening as he passed the bakery, the enticing aroma of fresh bread suddenly repulsive. He should turn it in, right? But the stack of hundreds in his pack whispered a counterpoint, a chorus of temptations. The address on the license began to swim in his mind.