Gemotions

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the greasy strands clinging to his forehead. Ethan felt a jolt of something as he saw it—the ring. He remembered the stories, the way his grandfather had talked about it, his eyes softening with every memory. Now, it was here, behind thick glass.

He leaned forward, pressing his palm against the cool surface, as if that would somehow transmit the history, the love, the connection. He could feel it, a sort of internal tremor, a shiver running through him that had nothing to do with the shop's air conditioning.

"How much?" he asked, his voice tight, almost a whisper. The pawnbroker, a woman with a sharp gaze, quoted a price that was frankly insulting. But he didn't even haggle. He just wanted to hold it. He needed to. He was already reaching for his wallet.