Gemotions

The waiting room felt far too warm. The air conditioning hummed, a futile effort against the rising tide of heat in her chest. She kept adjusting the strap of her bag, the leather digging into her shoulder. It was a nervous habit, she knew, but she couldn't seem to stop. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the beige carpet. Each time the door opened, her pulse would quicken, a hummingbird trapped in her ribs.

Her name was finally called. She stood, smoothing down her skirt, and took a deep breath, steeling herself. The office was decorated in muted tones, a stark contrast to the bright, sterile waiting room. And then she saw him. Across the room, behind a large desk, sat Mark. The Mark. Her stomach clenched.

“Please, come in and have a seat,” he said, his voice measured and calm. A polite smile played on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.