Gemotions

The morning air felt thin, sharp. Maya parked the car a block away, preferring to walk the rest of the way. She gripped the worn leather of her purse, knuckles white. The street looked different, wrong somehow, stripped bare under the overcast sky. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

The space where the oak had stood was empty. A raw, ragged wound of earth gaped back at her, a brutal testament to the absence. She circled the space, her gaze sweeping the surrounding trees, cataloging each branch, each shadow.

A man in a fluorescent vest approached, a clipboard clutched in his hand. “Looking for something, miss?” he asked, his voice casual, almost oblivious. Maya's eyes narrowed. “Just... admiring the view,” she replied, her tone cool, controlled. She wanted to know who had done this.