Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Mark’s temple as he surveyed the rows of dusty shelves. Each item, a potential threat to his composure, felt scrutinised. The air in the shop hung heavy with the scent of old things and regret. He knew it was here. He *felt* it.

He feigned casual interest, pretending to examine a broken music box. His fingers traced the intricate carvings, but his mind was elsewhere, fixated on the glint of something familiar. A low hum vibrated within his chest as his pulse quickened.

He moved slowly, circling the room, eyes constantly in motion. He didn’t want to appear rushed, careless. The ring, he knew, would be amongst the jewellery. He would not fail.