Gemotions

He’d always called her “Kiddo,” a term that usually brought a smile to Leo’s face. Now, hearing it only in his memory, echoed in the vacant workshop. He stared at the empty workbench where Mr. Davies, his mentor, had spent decades, his hands crafting intricate clockwork automatons. The workshop was tidy, almost unnaturally so. Every tool was perfectly placed, a final, silent order.

Leo felt a tightness in his chest. He picked up a wrench, feeling its familiar weight, and then slammed it back down. The loud clang reverberated through the room, a brief release of the pent-up frustration. He’d planned to ask about the intricacies of the escapement mechanism, about his own design flaws. Now, he only had the ghosts of instruction, the echoes of a voice he would never hear again in this room.