Gemotions

He felt his pulse hammering against his ribs. The antique pocket watch, a legacy from his grandfather, gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights of the auction house. His sister, Sarah, stood beside him, her face a mask of polite indifference. "It's just business, Leo," she’d said. "We need the money."

His throat constricted. He could hardly speak. He kept clearing it, trying to form coherent thoughts, but they scattered like frightened birds.

He tugged at his collar, desperate for air. The room spun slightly. The auctioneer’s voice, a steady drone, seemed to be closing in on him. He scanned the crowd, seeking a friendly face, but only saw the calculating gazes of potential buyers.

He jammed his hands in his pockets, fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. He had to stop this. He had to.