Gemotions

The chipped teacup, Aunt Eleanor's only remaining connection to her deceased mother, lay on the worn kitchen table. Liam felt a slight annoyance at the whole situation. Eleanor was fretting, wringing her hands, her eyes filled with worry. "Don't you worry, Eleanor," he said, and the words, though they were polite, felt hollow to him.

He was the one who could sort this out. He knew the best antique dealers, knew the market. He'd already made a mental note of what to say, how to play the game. He felt a surge of energy, a focus that narrowed his vision. This was solvable. He'd find a buyer who would appreciate the cup's history, but he'd also secure the best possible price.

He picked up the cup, turning it slowly. The chips were minor. He'd handle this with the detached grace of a seasoned professional.