Page 155 of Somno Slave

“That’s never happened before,” he says, and his voice sounds stripped down. “He doesn’t... fixate like that.”

I swallow, but my throat feels too tight for it.

“He’s just reminding us,” I say carefully, choosing my tone with precision.

“Of what?”

“That he’s here,” I answer. I lower my pen and close the notebook. “Don’t worry about it. Peter will know what to do.”

The lie sits heavy between us. I press my fingers flat against the cover to hide the tremor running through them.

But I know now, absolutely, unmistakeably, that he hasn’t disappeared, he’s still there.

And some sick part of me is relieved.

Chapter Forty-Four

Rheda

“I’m going to get a bottle of water,” Mike mutters eventually. His face is still flushed, ears tinging. He stretches once, rubbing at the back of his neck before glancing toward the darkened glass. He looks away just as fast.

The door buzzes and then shuts behind him. Silence rushes in immediately afterwards.

It’s different, thicker now.

My breath shudders before I can stop it.

Alone.

The realisation lands low and heavy in my stomach.

Alone with him.

I keep my eyes fixed on the desk at first.

On the scattered paperwork. The coffee rings staining the surface. Peter’s abandoned pen beside the keyboard.

And then—the lump under Peter’s mouse pad where the key is.

The photographs.

No.

Absolutely not.

My fingers tighten around my coffee cup instead. The paper crumples softly beneath my grip. I force myself to look away toward the blackened glass, toward my own warped reflection staring back at me faintly from its surface.

This is insane.

My pulse says otherwise.

Slowly, I set the cup down and the silence drags. My curiosity deforms into something uglier. I stand without realising I’m doing it. and the chair wheels scrape softly backwards across the floor. I’m across the room before I can even register the consequences.

Peter’s desk smells faintly of coffee and aftershave and paper that’s been handled too many times. Everything is arranged with impossible neatness. Pens parallel. Files squared perfectly. But the mousepad sits slightly crooked.

I stare at it. Then slide my fingers beneath it and cold metal brushes my skin immediately.

A horrible rush floods through me so fast my chest physically tightens around it.