Gemotions

The air conditioning in the pawn shop seemed to be barely functioning, the heat making Elena feel sticky and uncomfortable. She tapped her foot impatiently, the repetitive rhythm a frantic drumbeat against the silence. It had been weeks, weeks spent tracing leads, following up on whispers, and feeling utterly defeated. She pulled the photo of the ring from her purse, the worn paper a testament to the endless searches. “Just tell me you have it,” she pleaded internally. The wait felt like an eternity.