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.

room, her mind replayed the dream over

glimpse of events after 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?

ring from her finger in the morgue suddenly

'Could it be Shelia?'

covers and

his usual composed nature. Debra

"I'll do it."

out of

"Your phone's been ringing nonstop. Joe

and, seeing the numerous missed calls, immediately

over

turned of

heat, and said,

needs to simmer on

it'll

S." t

order takeout," Juan muttered while

at the nearly burnt

a

taste, and

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