Debra jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.

Juan was nearby, soaking a towel. When he noticed she was awake, he asked, "Do you want something to eat?"

The sight of Juan only deepened her fear. Instinctively, she scooted away from him, a motion he couldn't help but notice. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked.

It was indeed a nightmare.

In her dream, it felt as if she had been transported to her past life. She had observed everything as a ghost.

When she had seen the gravestone, the pain of dying on the operating table had rushed through her all over again.

"I..."

Juan silenced her with a look, mouthing, "There's a camera."

Debra composed himself and forced a smile. "Yeah, just a bad dream."

"You've got a fever," Juan said, glancing at the thermometer. "101 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm making some oatmeal for you, and the medicine is on the table."

"Okay," Debra replied smoothly.

the room, her mind replayed the dream

my death, why did Juan speak of revenge? Could it be that he wasn't the one who removed all the type A blood in the hospital?

her finger in the

'Could it be Shelia?'

covers and made

his usual composed nature. Debra watched in silence. In her previous life, he had never cooked for her. After all, he

"I'll do it."

are you out of bed? Go back

him his phone. "Your phone's

seeing the numerous missed

walked over

turned of

and said,

to simmer on

it'll

S." t

I'll order takeout," Juan muttered while

at the nearly burnt

a

taste, and

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