— Knyazev, your brother is on my desk. Bullet to the heart. Very close to the heart… He already said he’s going out, and I went into a daze, listening to the buzz in the receiver. My heart was jumping in my throat, my hands were shaking and wouldn’t obey while I tried to pull the uniform out of the closet… — Yva Vseslavovna! I flinched, and finally grabbed my trousers. — What happened? — Cardiac arrest. We revived him. But we’re losing him. — Damn it! I barked, pulled on my shirt, and rushed into the operating room… A heart exhausted by unrequited love is not suitable for transplantation. Especially not to share it with someone who doesn’t deserve a second chance. But fate doesn’t care about chances of compatibility.