Page 167 of Somno Slave

Victims. Statements. Blood. Men dead because of him.

I latch onto it. “Why did you kill them?”

For the first time, something in him changes. Surprise flicks across his face, sharp and then gone like it was never there.

He leans back slightly. “Not with them here.”

My spine locks.

Of course.

Of course that’s what this is.

He wants to get me alone.

Peter responds immediately. “Not happening.”

The refusal is sharp, but it doesn’t land the way it should. There’s a fracture in it now. He’s seen the shift in the room. He definitely doesn’t trust me in the middle of it, but he needs something, a crack he can use. And right now, I am the closest thing he has to one.

My throat feels tight.

I glance back, just for a second, and I can feel Peter already reading the answer on my face before I’ve even decided to give it.

“Give us a minute,” I hear myself say.

Peter turns sharply. “Absolutely not.”

“If he’s going to engage,” I say, my voice quieter now, “let him.”

He stares at me. “Rheda—”

“It’s fine.” I interrupt, too fast. “If anything happens, come straight back in.”

I turn away because if Peter really looks at me right now, he’ll see it. How hard I’m holding myself together. How badly I want this room empty.

For a second, nobody moves. The room just sits there, suffocating on it. I keep my eyes on the file in front of me, because looking at either of them feels impossible. I can feel Peter still standing there beside me. I can feel the hesitation in it, the fact that he knows this is a bad idea and is trying to decide whether I’m worth overruling in front of everyone.

Seconds stretch.

Then, finally, I hear it. The quiet rustle of fabric. The shift of shoes against the floor. A breath, sharp through someone’s nose.

Movement.

The door opens behind me, heavy and mechanical, the sound dragging across the room like something being peeled open. Cold air slips in for half a second. Then it closes with a sharp hiss.

I stare at the table for a moment longer, my hand still flat against the file, my pulse climbing so hard it makes my fingers feel numb.

And just like that, we are alone, and if anything, the silence gets worse.

My pulse climbs.

“Why did you kill them?” The question sounds different now, pitched.

His gaze moves over me slowly like he is checking what still belongs to him.

He rotates his wrists within the restraint. I can’t stop staring at them like I know something is about to happen.

“Careful, Doctor.” His voice is quiet.