Campbell lay in bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, though his mind was far from the present. The weight of Fergus’s death was a burden that felt too heavy to carry, and the upcoming funeral only added to the crushing sorrow. It hadn’t even been a week since he’d lost his closest friend, and the image of that final moment haunted him relentlessly. Fergus had been there for him through everything—helping at the station, offering friendship without judgment—and now he was gone because of a failure that felt all too preventable.

The suit—Campbell’s grandfather’s funeral suit—hung in his closet, waiting to be worn to yet another farewell. Fergus had worn it to the job interview they’d worked so hard to secure, a small victory that had seemed like the beginning of better things. Campbell had hoped that job would be a fresh start for Fergus, a symbol of all he could achieve outside the hospital’s walls. Now, the suit stood as a silent reminder of everything they’d lost in an instant.

Since that day, Campbell had spiraled into a fog of despair. His once-bright eyes, full of dreams of being a radio DJ, had dulled to a hollow, empty gaze. The accusations that had once stung him as misunderstandings—being seen as a “lunatic,” a public danger—echoed back now as bitter truths. He could barely summon the energy to get out of bed, let alone eat or care for himself. The passion he’d poured into his dreams felt as unreachable as Fergus’s voice, a voice he’d never hear again.