Gemotions

The humid air of the pawn shop felt thick on his skin, but Thomas barely noticed. He ran a finger across the dusty glass display case, the reflection of his own satisfied grin momentarily obscuring the glint of the ring. He knew it. He just *knew* it. "How much?" he drawled, his voice a low rumble. The shop owner, a man with a perpetually bored expression, grunted, glancing at the ring before rattling off a price. Thomas pretended to consider, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "That's… quite low, isn't it?" he said, his lips tilting upward. He knew, of course, that it was. His grandmother’s ring, the one he’d been searching for for years, and now it was within his grasp. He enjoyed the power of knowing.