Gemotions

The cold, metallic smell of the pawn shop amplified the churning in Mark's gut. The ring. He recognized it immediately, the intricate design a cruel reminder of happier times. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. He didn’t want to be here.

The shopkeeper, a man whose face was a roadmap of cynicism, barely acknowledged his presence. Mark’s control threatened to unravel. The thought of losing this ring to the clutches of this place was unbearable.

“How much for that one?” he managed to rasp out, his voice sounding foreign even to himself. The shopkeeper’s gaze finally settled on him, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Mark wanted to scream.