Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a low thrum that grated on Amelia's nerves. She kept her posture stiff, shoulders pulled back as she reviewed the budget spreadsheets. Each number was scrutinized, each decimal point checked twice. Across the cramped cubicle farm, Mark was regaling a cluster of colleagues with some anecdote. Amelia barely registered the laughter, focused on the numbers before her.

Later, as she walked to her car, a chill wind whipped through the parking lot, rustling the leaves of the ancient oak that stood sentinel at the entrance. She glanced back at the office building, a sense of unease creeping up her spine. Then she heard Mark's booming voice behind her.

"Hey Amelia! You were quiet in there today." He strode towards her, a friendly smile on his face. Amelia’s hand instinctively tightened around her keys.

"Just focused," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. He mentioned Camp Clearwater, and her breath hitched. Clearwater? That name echoed a past she'd sworn to bury.