Page 87 of Somno Slave

“You’ll know,” he says, voice low. His eyes hold mine for a second longer than necessary. And then, he’s gone.

I wake with a sharp inhale, my hand fisted in the sheet, fabric twisted so tight it aches in my grip. The room is dark and empty. But my body...isn’t.

Between my legs, heat lingers in slow, dull waves, unwinding through me like it hasn’t realised the dream is over.

My throat tightens.

No.

No, no—

I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough to hurt, like I can crush it out of myself. It doesn’t go. It lingers, heavy and humiliating.

Turn the sound off tomorrow.

The words come back clearer this time. Sharper. A command.

My stomach drops.

I drag my hand down hard over my face, like I can wipe the feeling away, like I can get rid of the evidence of it.

And the worst part, the part that makes something cold settle in my gut, is that I don’t know where it ends.

The dream?

Him?

Or me.

I stare up at the ceiling, wide awake, pulse refusing to settle. Because I know I’m not going back to sleep. I don’t trust what happens if I do.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rheda

The viewing room hits me the same way it always does, too clean, too controlled.

I pull my jumper tighter around myself and press my chin briefly into the fabric, breathing in the lavender scent. I hold onto it for a second longer than I should, as if it might settle something that hasn’t stopped shifting since I woke up.

Mike is already halfway through a coffee when I enter, one foot hooked around the leg of his chair, talking around a mouthful of something I don’t look closely enough to identify. Sean stands beside him, leaning over the monitors, one hand braced against the desk as he scrolls through something on the screen. Their voices overlap, low and steady.

I take my seat without interrupting, arranging my hands carefully on the desk.

Mike glances over at me briefly. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I reply quietly.

Sean lifts his cup slightly in acknowledgment, already turning back to the screen.

I keep my gaze on the guards as if that will steady my pulse but it’s nearly impossible. My whole body is acutely aware of him sitting behind the glass. I brace without even realising, failing when I try to drag in a controlled breath.

The seconds tick by.

I can’t look away much longer.

I turn to look at him, and I hate that I react before I’ve even properly seen him. Heat climbs up my throat first—sharp,uninvited—spreading into my cheeks so quickly it almost stings. I feel it happen, feel the flush bloom under my skin like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. My stomach dips just as fast.

I catalogue him before I can stop myself.