Gemotions

The flickering departure board was a viper, its changing data a constant threat. Amelia tapped her foot, the rhythmic percussion a counterpoint to the rising panic in her chest. Every announcement felt like a personal insult, each delay a deliberate act against her. She swiveled in her seat, her gaze sweeping the crowded gate, searching for any sign, any hint of progress. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the armrest; her jaw was set. She had to get to the gallery opening. She just had to.