He checked the rearview mirror and shot Kristen a cold, distant look as she stood frozen on the sidewalk. His eyes were icy, full of darkness.
Amelia was trapped in a dream. She was back in the operating room. Ryan lay on the table. She was fighting to save him, cranking the defibrillator up as high as it would go. But in the end, she could only watch as his heartbeat faded away, powerless to stop it.
“No, don’t! Please!” Amelia jolted awake, her body slick with cold sweat.
The ceiling above her was blindingly white. The air was thick with the sharp sting of disinfectant.
Thank God—it was just a nightmare.
She turned her head and caught sight of a man standing at the window. For a split second, with his tall frame and broad shoulders, she almost saw Ryan.
But then he turned around, and the sight of that all-too-familiar face made her stomach twist.
Clive.
He’d just finished a phone call. His face looked tense and unhappy, but when he noticed she was awake, his expression softened instantly.
Clive pocketed his phone and hurried over to her bedside.
“Amelia, you’re finally awake. You’ve been sleeping for a whole day.”
Amelia frowned, her tone flat and distant.
“What are you doing here?” Her throat was painfully dry, her voice barely more than a croak.
Clive didn’t answer right away. Instead, he poured her a glass of warm water and gently adjusted the bed so she could sit up.

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