Page 54 of Somno Slave

I pull back too fast.

Joe jolts slightly with it, his hand dropping from where it had just started to settle more firmly against my arm.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, misreading it, his voice quick and apologetic.

“No—no, it’s not—” I shake my head, forcing a small laugh that feels thinner than it should. “I just—too much to drink.”

He relaxes a fraction at that, though the uncertainty doesn’t fully leave his expression.

“It’s okay,” he says, softer now.

I nod, like that settles it, like that’s all it is.

But over his shoulder, something shifts. A flicker near the edge of the room where the light doesn’t quite reach properly.

My stomach drops before I can stop it.

I blink, trying to focus on it, but it’s gone before I can make much sense of it.

Just people. Just the bar. Just noise and light and bodies moving the way they should.

Still, the cold feeling stays low in my chest.

Olivia’s hand cracks against my back before I can sink too far into it.

“Yes!” she shouts, already pulling me towards her, her laughter loud and bright against my ear. She wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight.

“That’s my girl!” She hollers.

It takes a moment for my heart to stop slamming against my chest. I laugh, because that’s what’s expected. Because it’s easier than explaining the way my chest still feels tight, the way my eyes keep wanting to drift back to that same dark corner. And easier than me analysing why I thought of my fucking patient.

Chapter Eighteen

Deogal

I’m already here when she walks into the bar. Not in flesh but in shadow. Leering. Watching.

The door opens and the cold air folds around her for a second before the heat of the room takes her back.

She shrugs her coat off with a small hitch in her shoulder, like her body hasn’t quite caught up with her decision to be here. Her gaze drifts before it lands, taking in faces without holding onto any of them. She’s unsettled.

I lap it up.

A blonde girl folds into her space without hesitation. She leans over the table, her hair catching the light, her voice spilling easily into Rheda like it’s already familiar. I watch the way she reaches—hand brushing her arm, fingers lingering a second too long as she speaks.

Rheda turns towards her. Her head tilts slightly to hear better over the noise. She answers, something quiet at first, then more easily when the blonde laughs like it’s the easiest thing in the world to draw her out.

I watch her mouth change.

It softens when she smiles, the tension easing out of it, the line of it shifting into something warmer. The blonde says something else, closer now, her voice dropping like it’s meant just for her. She points over at a man.

He looks back.

I track it all.

Rheda reacts, a laugh slipping out of her. She leans into her friend, cheeks darkening before she can temper it. And before I know it, the man is approaching the table.

He touches her too easily and she doesn’t pull away from him. She lets it happen.