The following days seem to drag on. Everyday I spend as much time next to Dominik as I can spare, telling him about what is happening. I talk to the others, and I see to the Commander. Each day, he becomes more haggard and broken.

On the third day, when I walk into the kitchen, he has managed to sit up, leaning his back against the counter. His hair is greasy, laying in tendrils around his head. The bruises he sustained on the first day were beginning to fade, turning a faint ...