You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

A penthouse apartment in downtown Seattle.

More than a day had passed since Lyon brought the half-dead Arthur back from the dilapidated St. Jude Church.

The day before yesterday evening, when Leon carried the unconscious Arthur and pushed open the apartment door, old Bill was completely stunned.

He originally thought that Leon was just trying his luck. After all, Seattle is so big, finding a homeless person who could collapse and die on the street at any time is like finding a needle in a haystack.

Then, when he saw his once respectable neighbor, now emaciated and reeking of death, old Bill's eyes reddened, and he sighed repeatedly, unable to bear looking at him any longer.

Fortunately, Arthur's old bones were stronger than they had imagined.

With the help of the potent antibiotics and antipyretics left by Alex, and the continuous care and physical cooling provided by Leon and old Bill over the past day, the old man miraculously survived.

Now, although Arthur still has a low-grade fever, his body temperature has dropped significantly, and his face, which was originally ashen from the fever, has finally regained some of the color of a living person.

In the spacious guest bedroom, the curtains were half-drawn.

Old Bill had just woken up in the next room. He took a cup of hot coffee to the bedside, sat down in a chair, and looked at Leon, who was sitting on the other side, having stayed up all night staring at Arthur.

Old Bill's face was filled with worry and remorse.

"Mr. Vance, why don't you go and rest for a while? I'll keep an eye on things here. You haven't slept a wink all night," Old Bill said in a low voice.

Lyon leaned back on the single sofa, scrolling through the news on his phone, and simply waved his hand dismissively when he heard this.

"Don't worry about me, I'm not sleepy."

Lyon wasn't putting on a brave face; he genuinely wasn't under any pressure.

His physical attributes, which were as high as 15 points, had long since altered his bodily functions.

For him now, he only needs to sleep four or five hours a day to ensure he is energetic all day long.

Staying up all night won't even give you dark circles under your eyes; at most, you'll just yawn.

However, seeing old Bill's worried look, Leon was too lazy to explain his abnormal physical condition to him.

He actually thought it was a good thing that someone as old as Bill could sleep soundly until dawn.

On the streets of America, there are many people suffering from severe insomnia and neurasthenia due to long-term nervous tension and homelessness. Such people are prone to mental breakdowns with the slightest stimulation, and that is the real problem.

Just as the two were quietly keeping watch.

"Cough...cough cough..."

Arthur, who was lying in bed, suddenly let out a faint dry cough.

His brows furrowed in pain, his parched lips trembled slightly, and after a few violent struggles, his eyelids finally opened slowly.

"Arthur? Arthur, you're awake?" Old Bill quickly put down his coffee cup and went over to him.

But Arthur's eyes were unfocused.

His pupils were somewhat unfocused, staring blankly at the ceiling, clearly indicating that his brain was still in a state of confusion and delirium caused by the high fever.

"No...you can't take it..."

Arthur's chapped lips moved as he uttered incoherent murmurs, his voice hoarse:

"That data...is incomplete...and could pose a risk..."

"It's cold...so cold...Jamie, don't borrow that money...don't go..."

He shifted restlessly in bed, his hands unconsciously scratching at the air, as if trying to grab something, or perhaps pushing away something terrifying.

"Arthur, it's alright, you're safe now."

Old Bill quickly reached out and pressed down on Arthur's arm, which was flailing wildly in the air.

Lyon also stood up, walked to the bedside, and looked at the old man who was in a state of confusion.

The closeness between the two men and the touch of old Bill's hand seemed to give Arthur a kind of subconscious comfort.

His unfocused eyes lingered on the blurry outlines of Lyon and old Bill for a few seconds, his rapid breathing gradually calming down.

Then, he seemed to have exhausted the little bit of strength he had just managed to muster, and he slumped back into the soft pillow.

A few minutes later.

As time went by, the unfocused look in Arthur's eyes gradually faded, and his consciousness began to return.

He felt himself lying on a soft bed, covered with a dry, warm blanket.

The air I inhaled through my nose was warm, without the sour stench of moldy tarpaulin and the body odor of homeless people.

Where am I?

What's going on?

Did he not make it through and die?

A series of questions popped into Arthur's still somewhat sluggish mind. He tried to move his eyes to see his surroundings clearly.

Leon stood by the bed, watching Arthur's gaze refocus, knowing that the old man had truly come back to life.

"Don't rush to do anything."

Leon reached for a glass of warm water on the bedside table and held it to Arthur's lips: "Your fever has just subsided, and you're dehydrated. Drink some water to soothe your throat."