Valeria gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. The car swerved dangerously as she ran another red light, ignoring the blaring horns and screeching brakes around her. She didn't care about the traffic laws—not now.

Her heart was pounding, adrenaline surging through her veins like wildfire. Beside her, the man lay slumped in the passenger seat, blood pooling beneath him and staining her car's upholstery. His breaths were shallow—if he was breathing at all.

"You can't die on me," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Just hold on a little longer. Please."

The hospital loomed ahead, a beacon of hope in the chaos of the night. Valeria's tires screeched as she pulled up to the emergency entrance. She leapt out, shouting for help, and within seconds, a stretcher arrived.

The man was lifted onto it, his head lolling to the side, his face pale and streaked with blood. She followed closely as they rushed him through the hospital corridors, the fluorescent lights overhead casting harsh shadows on his broken body.

"Do whatever you can!" she pleaded, her voice cracking.

The ward boys wheeled him into the operating theater. A nurse stopped Valeria at the door, gently but firmly pushing her back. "You'll have to wait here, ma'am."

Valeria stood frozen, her breath shallow, her hands shaking as she watched the doors swing shut.

---

She paced the waiting room, the antiseptic smell of the hospital stinging her nose. She hated this place—the sterile walls, the cold floors, the lingering scent of despair. Minutes stretched into an eternity before a nurse approached her.

"Ma'am," the nurse began, her tone cautious. "I'm afraid the chances are slim. You should... start preparing for his last rites."

"Last rites?" Valeria's voice came out as a strangled whisper.

The nurse hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, but your husband's injuries are extensive. There's almost no chance he'll survive."

Husband? Valeria blinked, caught off guard. She opened her mouth to correct the nurse but stopped herself. What could she say? That he was a stranger she'd dragged off the street, bleeding like a butchered animal? She nodded instead, swallowing the knot in her throat.

Inside the operating theater, the doctors worked furiously. They patched up stab wounds, extracted bullets, and tried to stabilize the man's vitals. But it was no use. He was slipping away, each passing second pulling him further from life.

Hours later, the lead surgeon stepped out, his face grave. "We did everything we could," he said. "I'm sorry."

Valeria's heart sank. She followed the gurney as they wheeled the man's body out, now wrapped in a white shroud. Her throat tightened as she watched the lifeless form being taken to the morgue.

But then—movement.

"Did he just... move?" Valeria's voice broke the silence, sharp and panicked.

The doctor frowned. "Impossible."

She stepped closer, her eyes wide. "I saw it! He moved!"

The doctor sighed, clearly skeptical, but his expression changed the moment he looked at the body. The shroud shifted again, almost imperceptibly, but enough to send a chill down his spine.

"Get him back to the operating theater. Now!"

Chaos erupted as nurses and orderlies scrambled to act. The shroud was removed, revealing the man's pale face. His chest rose and fell weakly, each breath a shallow gasp, his body trembling with an unnatural vitality.

The doctors worked quickly, pumping fluids and oxygen into him, but their fear was palpable. The man's pulse was faint, almost nonexistent, and his body no longer bled—there was simply no blood left to bleed.

"This doesn't make sense," one of the surgeons muttered, his voice tinged with unease. "He was dead. We checked—he had no pulse, no respiration. This... this shouldn't be happening."

They stepped back after stabilizing him as much as possible, their faces pale with disbelief.

"Ma'am," the doctor said, his voice low and careful. "This is... unprecedented. But please, don't let this information leave the hospital."

Valeria barely heard him. She couldn't take her eyes off the man lying on the bed. His chest moved weakly, but it moved. Against all odds, he was alive—or something close to it.

"Can I see him?" she asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.

The doctor hesitated before nodding. "Be quick."

---

Valeria stepped into the room, her movements tentative. The man lay still, his skin ashen, his body impossibly still except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. She approached slowly, her heart pounding.

She reached out, placing her hand gently on his chest. At first, there was nothing—no movement, no warmth. But then she felt it. A faint heartbeat, so weak it was almost imperceptible.

And then it stopped.

Her breath hitched. She leaned closer, her hand trembling as she pressed against his chest again. No heartbeat. No movement. Nothing.

"Not again," she whispered, panic rising in her throat.

But before she could call for help, the heartbeat returned. Stronger this time. Fierce, almost violent, as if the man's heart was fighting to break free from his chest.

His eyes shot open, and Valeria stumbled back with a gasp.

He sat upright abruptly, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath. His gaze locked onto hers, his eyes glowing—impossibly bright, a shade of lilac tinged with crimson.

She blinked, and the glow was gone, replaced by an icy darkness that sent a chill down her spine.

"Where am I?" His voice was cold, sharp, and demanding.

Valeria struggled to find her words. "You're... in a hospital. You were—"

"Who are you?" he interrupted, his tone filled with anger and confusion.

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words caught in her throat. She had no answer, no explanation. She could only stare back at him, her mind racing with questions of her own.

Who was he? And what, exactly, had she just witnessed?