Gemotions

He bounced on the balls of his feet, his gaze darting between the dusty display cases and the slow-moving clerk. The pawnshop smelled of old metal and desperation, a scent that usually didn't bother him, but today it was a physical weight. Every second that ticked by was a hammer blow against his composure. He imagined his grandmother's face, the slight tremor in her hands as she’d shown him the photo of the ring. He needed to find it, now.

"Anything yet?" he asked, his voice tight, barely above a whisper. The clerk, a thin man with a bored expression, slowly shook his head, continuing to buff a tarnished silver bracelet.

He glanced at his watch again, the sweep of the second hand a mocking reminder of the passing time. The ring was here, he could feel it, just hidden out of sight.