**POV Manuela**

The days that followed seemed to drag on slower than ever. On one of them, I stood watching Fred through the glass.

He was sprawled across the narrow hallway bench that faced our room. His body was twisted awkwardly, one arm flung over his eyes as if even the fluorescent lights bothered him in his sleep.

He looked smaller than I’d ever seen him—too fragile for the man I knew, the one who had once dominated stages, adored by the entire world. Here there was no stage, no ...