Approaching, she bent toward the man.
His expression looked peaceful, like someone resting. But Anna had seen hundreds of such “sleepers”—for her, he was an object, not a human being.
She reached out and carefully tried sliding the ring away. But when her fingers brushed the ring, her own heart nearly stopped.
The man’s hand was warm.
She recoiled, face draining of color.
She stood frozen, unwilling to believe it. Her thoughts raced: “Impossible… corpses aren’t warm. I must be mistaken.
It’s only nerves…”
Yet the unease grew louder.
Shaking, she touched his wrist again. Pulse.
Weak, faint—but indubitably there. Anna stumbled back, covering her mouth to stifle a scream.
Her mind spun: the man was alive.
Had she not reached for the ring, he would have been mistaken for d3ad, and tomorrow the scalpel would have opened his body. Every second dragged unbearably. Anna knew that her thieving instinct had just preserved a life.
She dashed for help, summoning the doctor.
Later it was revealed: the man had suffered a rare att:ack of profound lethargy. His heartbeat slowed almost to nothing, his breathing nearly disappeared, so even skilled doctors announced him gone.
Yet because of Anna—because of her unlawful but fateful impulse—the man survived. And only she knew the strange truth: his salvation was not born of virtue, but of greed.
