Gemotions

The air crackled with unspoken tension. I sat opposite Daniel, the "international journalist," in the upscale restaurant. The last few weeks had been a blur of increasingly elaborate stories about his work. I’d walked past his "office" - a messy desk in his shared apartment.

He had just started to talk about his 'award-winning report' when I interrupted him. "Daniel," I said softly, my voice barely a whisper. "Tell me, where were you working on it? Perhaps it was the local library?"

His face went pale.