Gemotions

The cold air conditioning in the pawn shop offered no relief from the heat building inside Amelia. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the quiet. The chipped paint on the walls seemed to close in on her. She felt like an animal trapped in a cage, prowling back and forth.

She knew the ring. The intricate filigree, the tiny emeralds. She knew the seller's story would be fabricated. She would not be fooled.

Her hands shook as she pointed to a display case containing rings. “May I see that one?” she asked, her voice deliberately steady. She waited, watching the shopkeeper's every move, his every expression. He would underestimate her, she knew. He would pay.