A body lies on the stretcher, covered by a white sheet. The smell of sickeningly burned flesh clogs my nostrils, but that’s not the reason I find it hard to breathe. It’s the black skeleton-like hand peeking from beneath the sheet. I approach it slowly, my movements stiff and unnatural. I take the roasted hand in my shaky one. Ash and burned flesh smudge my skin, but the only thing I’m focused on is the ring burned into the second to last finger. I rub the top of it, and my heart fucking falls to my knees when the green is exposed. No. I remove it with some of the flesh, and Kirill’s stares me
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