Page 151 of Somno Slave

Satisfied, he tucks the files under one arm and heads for the door.

“Call if anything changes,” he says over his shoulder.

The door shuts behind him with a heavy, final thud.

The room suddenly feels quieter. I wait for the hum of monitors, but they seem to fade into nothingness. I count down from ten, and then—I can’t help myself. I look at him.

He’s still there. Like time stopped around him and the fluorescent lights, the cameras, the cold recycled air have preserved him there.

Look at me,I beg silently.

Nothing.

His head stays lowered, his body still in that same impossible quiet, like he’s listening to something deeper than this room.

Look at me. Please.

Still nothing.

Minutes drag by so slowly they start to feel physical, thick and suffocating, pressing against my skin. My pulse beats louder. My fingers twitch against the desk. My knee starts bouncing before I even realise it. I stop it. Start again. Stop it.

There’s a sharp, irrational thought that flashes through me so suddenly it makes my stomach turn.

Make him look at you.

My hand moves before I can stop it, lifting from my lap like my body has made the decision without asking permission. My fingers reach the top edge of the monitor, halfway to doing something I would never be able to justify, before reality hits hard enough to make me snatch it back. I force my hand down into my lap, gripping hard, nails biting through the fabric as I clamp my thighs shut beneath my fingers.

Heat crawls violently up my neck. If Mike looked at me right now, if anyone did, I think they’d see it written there—something ugly, something slipping.

I stare at the screen like it can erase what just happened.

Breathe.

In. Out.

Again.

I glance over at Mike to see if he noticed. He hasn’t. He’s already reclined in his seat, ankles hooked on top of another chair, face hidden in his book.

The room falls into a strange kind of stillness despite the violence of my heartbeat.

I keep my eyes on the glass.

He doesn’t move.

Mike turns a page.

I shift in my chair. My fingers feel wrong now, heavier somehow, like gravity has only just remembered me. I flex them once, then again, wiggling them under the desk like that might shake the feeling loose.

I glance at Mike. His attention is buried somewhere halfway down the page.

Then back to Deogal.

Then to Mike again.

Make him jealous.

The thought lands so suddenly it almost makes me sit up.