Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding started promptly at seven, just as the sun began its hesitant climb. Sarah clutched her mug of tea, the ceramic warm against her clammy hands. Her gaze darted from the window to the calendar, each tick of the clock amplifying her unease. The planned escape to the library felt distant, almost impossible.

She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on her fingernails. Her stomach churned, a familiar unpleasant sensation. Each hammering blow was a drumbeat against her peace, the volume seemingly increasing with every passing minute.

"Just breathe," she murmured, the words feeling inadequate against the rising clamor. The thought of confronting Mr. Henderson filled her with a strange reluctance, her feet suddenly leaden. She took another gulp of tea, the bitterness oddly comforting.