“But pulling a lever feels like an administrative decision,” Owen said. “Pushing a man feels like a crime. You’re physically responsible.”
“Precisely.” Whitaker stopped right in front of my desk. He smelled of old paper and bitter coffee. He looked at me. “And you? What is your name?”
“Leah,” I managed, my throat dry.
“Leah. Why does the physical act change the morality? If the result is five people breathing instead of five corpses, why do you hesitate to push?”
