Page 132 of Somno Slave

My fingers hover.

I click onto history without knowing I’ve done it. Every search stares back at me like a confession.

My throat tightens.

And then—

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

The screen clears the past hour of searches like it never happened, like I never went looking.

The door opens.

I nearly jump out of my skin, a scream on the tip of my tongue.

Sean freezes halfway through stepping in, coffee in hand. He spots me.

“You’re here early,” he says, brows lifting. His gaze flicks to the clock above me and then back at my face. “Your shift doesn’t start for another hour.”

I swallow hard. It pounds in my ribcage so loudly I swear he can probably hear it.

“Just had to answer some emails.” I lie quickly. My tone pitches at the end. I shoot back a question before he can delve deeper. “What are you doing here?”

“Peter sent me to get some things.” His gaze lingers on me a second longer than usual, then he squints. “Are you... sure you’re alright? You look ill.”

I still. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t smile.

“I didn’t mean—” he exhales awkwardly. “You know what I mean.”

I twist and busy myself with stacking files, aligning the papers so he won’t ask why they’re scattered. “We are approaching winter. I usually get sick at this time so it would figure.”

I cringe as soon as the words leave my lips.

He doesn’t believe me, and he doesn’t pretend to hide it. But he doesn’t press either. Instead, he moves to the left side of the room, hands already clicking the buttons on the printer. The beeps cut loudly between us.

I keep my back to him, trying not to look as stiff as I feel. I force my head down, pick up my pen, and pretend to tick something as though I have a to do list in front of me.

Then, the printer whirls. It’s loud, too loud, like the machine is grinding inside my skull. It churns out paper, each one sliding out and leaving a stain on my brain. But then, it stutters.

“Fuck.” He curses. I hear him tugging on the paper, and the screaming from the machine’s refusal.

“Let go.” He mutters under his breath.

The sound grows too much.

I turn. “Do you need help?”

Please say no.

“No.” He tugs the paper again.

But this time it tears the corner. He curses under his breath. “Okay, yes. Maybe.”