Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to have retreated from the grimy windows, leaving the pawn shop in a perpetual twilight. Every creak of the floorboards echoed in the silence, each sound amplifying the tension that coiled in David's gut.

His palms were slick with perspiration as he feigned interest in a dusty collection of pocket watches. His pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He imagined his grandmother's face, her kind eyes, her gentle smile.

He slowly turned, forcing himself to appear casual. He cleared his throat. "Do you… do you have any rings?" The question felt like a betrayal, a confession of his hidden dread.