Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to bore into her skin, intensifying the heat she felt rising up her neck. Clara traced the outline of the ceramic mug in her hands, her knuckles white. She’d always found comfort in the feel of the cool, smooth clay, but today it offered no solace. The words “Project Nightingale - Confidential” were printed in bold on the document she clutched, almost destroying it.

She’d poured everything into this. Time, effort, years of experience. Then, a chance remark from a vendor – a vague hint about a parallel effort. The pit in her stomach deepened.

The anticipation of the upcoming meeting, the thought of someone else possibly having the same vision, made her want to run and hide.