Gemotions

Michael ran a hand through his hair, the sweat beading on his forehead despite the air conditioning. The pawn shop felt like a maze, each cluttered aisle a new puzzle. He had to get closer. He feigned interest in a battered guitar, his eyes constantly flicking towards the jewelry counter. There it was: the ring, sparkling like a beacon amidst the gloom. He didn't understand.

He approached the counter, his palms damp. He cleared his throat. "How much for that ring?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though inside, his chest felt constricted.

The shop owner, a woman with eyes that missed nothing, named a price. It was a bargain, far less than what the ring’s sentimental value was worth. Michael felt a jolt, a dizzying sensation in his head. He knew that ring. He *knew* it. He needed to find out more.