Gemotions

The harsh fluorescent lights of the pawn shop hummed, reflecting off the dusty glass display cases. Amelia chewed on her lip, a nervous habit she’d picked up from her grandmother. The ring, nestled on a velvet cushion, winked at her. It was the right shape, the right setting, the right everything. But it couldn't be. Not *this* ring.

She approached the counter slowly, hands stuffed deep in her pockets. The shop owner, a man with a perpetually bored expression, barely glanced up. “Can I help you?” he grunted, his voice raspy.

“That ring… the one with the emerald… how much?” Her voice was barely a whisper. The man quoted a price, a pittance. Amelia’s stomach churned. It felt too easy, too… wrong. The ring had been lost years ago. Her grandfather had been devastated.