Page 50 of Somno Slave

She does.

There’s a pause before she inhales sharply.

“Rheda!” She exclaims. The noise cuts through the bar, sharp and pitched until we earn a few strange looks. I brace myself for impact. And then—her arms snap around me.

“Oh my God!” She squeals. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

She jumps against me until I’m forced to jolt too. Her lips meet my cheek just as fast, smearing red lipstick across my cheek.

“You’re the best!”

“What is it?” Someone calls from the table.

“My initials,” she says, breathless. “I’ve always wanted this.”

A laugh comes from the table. “Why didn’t you just buy one yourself?”

“You can’t buy yourself initials,” she shoots back, scowling. “That’s tragic. I’ve been hinting for Dylan to get me one for years.”

She looks at me again, softer now. “How did you know?”

“I listen,” I say, a small tilt of a smile. “Unlike your boyfriend.”

That does it. Her eyes glass instantly, bottom lip trembling in that way I’ve seen a hundred times before.

“Don’t you dare cry,” I warn, already reaching for the clasp. “Or I’m taking it back.”

She laughs and lifts her hair without being asked.

I step closer. The chain is cold between my fingers as I bring it around her neck. For a second—just a second, it feels... off.Like the metal between my fingers shudders. I push it down as quickly as the thought forms. I fasten the clip.

“There,” I say, smoothing the chain flat against her skin.

She turns back to the table, grinning now. “Thank you so much, Rheda. I’m never taking it off.”

I let out something that passes for a laugh and let her guide me toward the table. There are people I don’t recognise already sitting there, drinks in hand, mid-conversation.

It’s easy to fall into it.

Conversation moves quickly enough that I don’t have to think too hard about what I’m saying. Names blur. Stories overlap.

My eyes move. Habit, more than choice.

I track the exits first. There are two: one behind the bar, one half-hidden past the bathrooms. Three staff behind the counter, one runner weaving through tables. A couple arguing quietly near the door. A man on his phone who hasn’t looked up once. The group to my left, loud but harmless. The woman in the corner who’s watching everyone without joining in.

My eyes move without permission—exits, faces, movement—until I force myself to stop. My body doesn’t settle the way it should. There’s still something lingering under my skin.

Olivia nudges me after a while.

“So,” she says, leaning in slightly, “how’s the new job? When I got your text, I screamed. I’msoexcited for you to get away from those assholes.”

“Good,” I smile. “Busy.”

Her face drops.

“That’s it?” she presses. “You disappear for a whole week and all I get is ‘busy’?”

I shake my head, a faint smile pulling at my mouth. “I can’t really say anything.”