I stepped into the dining room, doing my best not to look surprised. I was the only one who knew what really happened, so keeping a neutral expression was important.
Just to be safe, I activated the 'Francis Card.'
My face relaxed, and the way I walked became more composed.
The table was set with an elegant spread—perfectly poached eggs, smoked salmon, buttered croissants, and fresh fruit arranged like art on porcelain plates.
And there he was. Sitting at the head of the table with his usual stoic expression, slowly lifting a cup to sip his coffee.
His hair, his posture, the way his fingers curled around the mug—it was exactly him.
What the hell happened? How was this even possible? Either that was a ghost, or I was dead and this was god's idea of a prank.
My head throbbed—probably from all the existential questions before breakfast. Good thing I used my acting card early, or I would be sweating bullets by now.
Daniel looked up with an unreadable expression.
