Page 124 of Somno Slave

I scream but no sound comes out.

He collapses in a heap against the dirt, fingers flat in the mud. He howls. There’s no dignity left in the sound. Just pain, pure and unfiltered.

“Hold him,” someone barks.

Rough hands seize his arms, twisting them behind his back. He bucks, snarling, nearly slipping free, but there are far too many of them. They drag him upright, wrenching until I’m sure his shoulders are going to tear loose.

He spits blood. It lands across the guard’s cheek and the response is instant.

A baton slams into Deogal’s stomach, snatching the air from his lungs in a vicious burst. He folds forward, gagging, and they use the moment to shove him into the dirt again. His face connects first.

The sound of them closing in makes something deep in my chest collapse.

He thrashes once more, desperation flaring bright and brief, though his head hangs. They gather his arms behind his back and tie them with a thick rope. His gaze lifts, unfocused, scanning the crowd wildly, but the guards move fast. They haul him upright, dragging him across the dirt for all the eyes to watch. His feet slip and scrape, toes catching uselessly.

I snap free from the dream with a gasp. My fingers curl around my throat protectively, eyes blistering with tears. I heave and pant. Everything whirls, distorting, as my mind struggles to comprehend what just happened.

I can’t speak straight away. My body is still somewhere else; it suddenly locks like I’m being dragged back into sleep. I can’t get it out of my head. The dirt. The blood. The sound of it.

“What was that?” I screech, legs already scrambling beneath the duvet as if I can kick some distance between us. They barely twitch.

“Now do you understand?”

I can’t breathe properly. I can still hear the sound the baton made against his skull.

“That wasn’t real,” I whisper immediately. My voice shakes violently. “That can’t be real.”

He watches me carefully. “You felt it.”

I choke. “Was it them? Did you kill the police?”

“The city guard,” He corrects me. The name drags through my mind like a curse, but he pushes back fast. “No. I didn’t kill them.”

“Then why—” I can’t control the racing of my heart. “Why did you show me that?”

The heat from his body engulfs me in a flame. He pushes forward, dangerously close, until his eyes are searching mine. “You need to understand why I did what I did. You don’t get to judge without seeing it.”

Tears well in my eyes.

“You said you wanted to know.” He says slowly, his words deceptively soft.

I feel sick. The room hasn’t stopped spinning and shaking. I grip onto my sheets like they could possibly ground me. His hand brushes my cheek, hot and heavy, and yet it leaves a frozen wake in its path.

“My story isn’t a happy one, Doctor,” he whispers, voice barely above a whisper. He pushes forward. “Will you still think I’m a monster when you see what they did to me?”

His face cracks into something desperate. “Or will you agree that I did what had to be done?”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rheda

“Show me,” I hear the words leave my lips before I can stop them. “Show me, please.”

He holds my gaze for a minute too long, until something drips behind us. It’s slow at first. A soft, hollow tap somewhere in the dark. Then the sound deepens, thickens, until it seems to echo inside my skull, and the world folds in on itself.

Stone rises around me. Cold, wet and miserable. Three walls of slate curve inward around rusted metal bars, closing tight like a fist.

A cell.