Gemotions

The chipped paint of the pawn shop window reflected his own sour expression back at him. David took a deep breath, the stale air thick with the scent of old things, and trudged inside. He knew, with a deep-seated resistance that thrummed in his temples, that this was a fool's errand. His grandfather's ring – lost years ago – was probably melted down by now.

The shop owner, a man with a greasy apron, pointed towards a specific cabinet. "Rings are in there." His voice was flat. David deliberately took his time, examining each trinket with meticulous care.

He lingered over each piece, studying its imperfections. He was in no rush. He wasn't going to let this place rush him. He was doing this on *his* time.