Gemotions

He had to lean against the counter, suddenly light-headed. His heart hammered against his ribs like a frantic bird. The pawn shop felt stifling, the air thick with the scent of old metal and forgotten hopes. It was a miserable place, and he loved it.

"Just browsing, son?" the pawnbroker, a man whose face seemed permanently etched with disappointment, asked.

"Something like that," Leo croaked, his voice barely a whisper. He’d been searching for years, driven by a hope he’d almost lost. He had to keep a strong composure. He needed it to work. His hand trembled as he pointed to the ring, the familiar inscription on the inside catching the light.

"That one's been here a while," the man grunted. "Not much call for antique stuff."

Leo managed a shaky laugh. He was barely holding it together, like a balloon at the point of bursting. He had to be calm. He had to have it.