Gemotions

The harsh fluorescent lights of the pawn shop seemed to bore into Clara’s skull. She stared, unblinking, at the display case. The ring. There it was. The emerald, a deep, vibrant green, mocking her. She could feel the rapid thump of her heart, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs.

Her breath hitched. She reached for the glass, her fingers trembling. A wave of nausea swept over her, and she had to swallow hard to keep it down. "Can I... can I see that one?" she managed, her voice barely a whisper.

The shopkeeper, a man whose face was etched with the city's cynicism, gestured towards a stool. She sank onto it, her legs suddenly weak. The world seemed to tilt. The ring, her grandmother's engagement ring, was right there. Stolen.