Gemotions

The humid air of the pawn shop clung to Elias like a damp shroud. He ran a hand over his sweating forehead, leaving a smear of grime. The bell above the door had jangled a discordant welcome, and now he stood, hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the cluttered display case. He knew the ring, the intricate filigree, the single, perfect emerald. His grandmother’s. It had vanished after her passing, a mystery that had gnawed at his family for years.

He shifted his weight, his knee bumping the edge of a dusty, chipped porcelain doll. The shop owner, a man with a walrus mustache and eyes that seemed to miss nothing, finally ambled over. "Can I help you, son?" he asked, his voice raspy. Elias swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“Just… looking,” he managed, his voice barely a whisper. He pointed at the case. "That ring... how much?"