The scalpel traced the Y-incision across the cadaver’s chest. James concentrated on keeping his hand steady, aware of Dr. Winters watching from across the dissection lab. His appendectomy scar itched beneath his scrubs. It always did when he was nervous.
First-year anatomy practical, and he couldn’t afford mistakes.
The body was warmer than he’d expected, but that was probably normal. Fresh cadaver, the instructor had said. Better for learning.
Then he saw it.
A teardrop, sliding from the corner of the woman’s closed eye.
James froze. Stared at the glistening track down her temple. Bodies didn’t cry. Couldn’t cry.
He checked for a pulse, fingers trembling against her carotid. There—faint, so faint he’d almost missed it. His scar itched like crazy now.
“Dr. Winters, I think—”
“Something wrong, Mr. Peterson?” She was beside him now, that pleasant smile still in place.
“She’s… I think she’s alive.”
“Perceptive. Intuitive.” Dr. Winters glanced at the other students, absorbed in their work. “Class dismissed. Mr. Peterson, stay behind please—I’ll demonstrate the pericardial approach.”
The lab emptied. The door clicked locked.
“You’ll make an excellent teaching aid,” she said, filling a syringe. “Students learn so much more from fresh material.”
The needle bit his arm before he could move.
Next week, Dr. Winters introduced the new cadaver to her first-years. Young, male, excellent condition. The appendectomy scar on his abdomen had healed well.
Perfect for learning.
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