Page 68 of Somno Slave

Mike straightens. “Test it how?”

“We find out whether he actually wants to live.” His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

My fingers curl hard at my sides, nails pressing into my palms, grounding and useless all at once as a flicker of something sharper cuts through the shock. I open my mouth to protest but he speaks again.

“Shock him again.” He says firmly.

Mike hesitates for half a second, just enough to feel it, then reaches for the panel.

I step forward without even thinking, the protest still caught somewhere between my throat and teeth.

“Peter,” I start.

“Now.” He interrupts sharply.

There’s no room left in it for anything else, because Mike’s hand is already moving.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Deogal

The current doesn’t leave me cleanly. It threads itself under the skin, fine and persistent, like something alive that refuses to die. Sharpness drags into a dull ache, every point of contact still burning in slow, circular pulses that never quite fade. My muscles hold the memory of it, threatening to tighten again without warning.

I stay where I am. Head lowered, breathing steadying by degrees, though the air still feels slightly wrong in my lungs.

There’s no need to move yet.

My shadow leans before I do.

It stretches across the floor, lengthening toward the glass as if already drawn there.

She’s watching.

She thinks she’s careful about it. Clinical in the way she holds herself, like she can stand there and observe without ever becoming part of what she’s observing.

It doesn’t work like that.

No one moves immediately.

“Alright.” Peter’s voice cuts through the room, thick with impatience. He moves behind the glass first, rolling his sleeves back with deliberate ease, as if this is routine, as if I am something predictable enough to be worked through step by step.

The others follow him in. Helmets down. Faces gone.

It’s almost amusing that they hide behind them as though it creates safety. People are loud in other ways. Sean favours hisleft side when he walks. Mike taps his fingers against his thigh whenever Peter enters the room. Their bodies introduce them long before names do.

Peter moves toward me until the toes of his boots stop inches from mine.

“Look at me.”

I don’t, and a long silence follows.

He crouches slightly, close enough now that I can smell stale coffee beneath the sharp scent of antiseptic clinging to his clothes.

“You’ve had your performance.” His voice stays level. “Now we’re going to try this properly.”

My shadow shifts lazily across the floor beside his boots.

“You know what we want.”