Gemotions

He’d always felt a special connection to Evelyn Reed. Her prose, her voice… it was as if she understood, truly understood. Now, finding out her masterpiece was built on a foundation of stolen work was like being kicked in the chest. He wanted to scream. He gripped the worn cover of *Crimson Shadows* so tightly, his knuckles a painful white. He had known her work intimately, and she had betrayed that intimacy.

He spent the next few days in the library, hunched over microfilm readers, cross-referencing passages, tracing sources. His sleep was fitful, plagued by images of Evelyn's smiling face, a mask of lies. He started carrying a notebook, jotting down every discrepancy, every suspiciously familiar turn of phrase. The librarian kept eyeing him.

He couldn't stand it. He went to the park where Evelyn lived and sat outside her building, watching.