Greg's POV
After a few hours of sitting on the same chair that I have visited so frequently in the past two years, in Mafele’s office, my body is going numb.
I stand up and decide to take a glass of water, walking to the water dispenser on the right side of the doorway, but before a switch on the machine, Mafele walks in. His face says it all, with black patches under his eyes.
'Did he not have enough sleep?' wrinkles have formed. He looks ten years older than he did yesterday. I didn’t have a clear look at him in the morning, at the hospital's emergency entrance, but as he walks closer to me, I can see how tired he looks.
He takes his seat and motions for me to take mine. He fakes a smile and gets ready to start our conversation the same way he has done for the last two years. But
