Page 186 of Somno Slave

I hold his gaze or try to. It’s harder than it should be. There’s nothing in his expression to anchor to. No reaction to read, no shift to measure. Just that same fixed stillness, like he’s already decided what I am and is now waiting to see if I confirm it.

“I mean, yes, I was fed up,” I force the words to slow. “With the lack of progress. We’ve had him in containment for two weeks and there were no signs of engagement.”

Harris watches me without blinking. “And speaking into the microphone solved that?”

I swallow. My throat feels tighter now, the movement more noticeable than it should be.

“It was an attempt to disrupt the pattern,” I say. “Introduce unpredictability and force a break in his behavioural loop.”

It sounds correct. It sounds like something I would write. And yet, something in my chest recoils from it.

Because it isn’t the reason. Not really.

“Do you do that with other subjects?”

My mouth dries. I shake my head, soft at first and then once harder, unable to find the words.

Harris leans back slightly, pen tapping once against the paper. “You deviated from observation protocol. And you did so...spontaneously?”

“I made a judgement call,” I say.

He doesn’t write that down. He watches me instead. “Based on what?”

My fingers press slightly into the edge of the table, grounding, anchoring, something to hold onto while my thoughts shift too quickly beneath the surface.

Say it.

The thought arrives fully formed.

Tell them.

Tell them he knew you were there. Tell them he spoke to you before you gave him permission. Tell them he visits you at—

My chest pulls tight like my body already knows this ends badly.

“What we were doing wasn’t yielding results,” the words rush out.

Harris’s gaze doesn’t shift. “And you were confidentyoucould control that engagement?”

I nod once. “I thought it was worth a try.”

Another lie.

Peter shifts beside him, just slightly. I catch it peripherally, the change in his posture, the way his weight redistributes like he’s preparing to step in.

Harris finally looks down, pen moving again, but the movement is slower now as though he’s not recording what I said, but what I didn’t.

The silence stretches, and I sit inside it, trembling. I resist the urge to wipe my palms on my trousers.

“Is there anything else you want to add?” He asks sharply.

I shake my head. “No.”

Peter watches me for a second longer, and then his attention flicks back to Harris.

“Alright,” He says, his tone returning to something procedural. “We’ll proceed as planned then.”

Harris doesn’t respond straight away. He closes the file in front of him with a soft, precise motion, aligning the edges before resting his palm flat against it, as if sealing whatever decision has already been made.