Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cluttered workshop. Sarah paced, the worn wood floorboards creaking under her relentless movement. Each footfall was deliberate, each circuit around the workbench a survey of her domain. Her fingers, stained with grease and frustration, traced the contours of the disassembled prototype. She knew, with a sinking certainty that twisted her stomach, that someone, somewhere, had already done this. The patent website was her enemy now, a source of dread.

She felt a prickle at the back of her neck, a sensation of being watched that was likely a manifestation of her own obsession. She spun around, eyes darting to the shadowed corners, half-expecting to see a ghost of a competitor.

"Damn it," she muttered, the sound swallowed by the cavernous space. The air felt heavy, suffocating. She needed to know. She opened the laptop, the screen illuminating her face with a pale, anxious glow.