Gemotions

The bell above the pawn shop door jingled, a sound that felt amplified in Amelia’s ears. She smoothed down her already perfect blazer. Her palms were damp, slicking against the cheap fabric. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the jewelry counter. The air inside felt thick, stale, heavy with the scent of forgotten lives.

"Can I help you, miss?" The man behind the counter had a walrus mustache and eyes that seemed to have seen everything. She fiddled with the strap of her handbag, a habit she’d had since she was a little girl.

"I… I was wondering if you had any… antique engagement rings?" Her voice sounded thin, reedy, even to her own ears. It was a lie, a half-truth at best. She scanned the glass cases, her gaze darting from one glinting object to another, searching, praying.