Page 13 of Somno Slave

Homicide. Mutism. Control.

My pen taps once against the page. I think of the men who use silence as leverage. The desperate ones. The defiant ones. The ones who understand that saying nothing can be its own kind of power.

The words fall into place softly.

I glance at Peter. “How long has he been in custody?”

“A month.”

“A month?” I blink. “Why hasn’t he been charged yet?”

“You’d do well to remember this isn’t a normal criminal,” he says slowly. “We are not the left side of the prison. We do not follow the same rules.”

My heart stutters once. “But it’s the law?”

His gaze sharpens.

“You are here to sit behind the glass, read his body language, and take notes,” he continues. “You will not judge our methods.”

I blink, the surprise hitting too fast to fully hide. “I won’t be speaking to him?”

His fingers tighten around the file he’s holding. “You are not to interact with the criminal under any circumstance. You will be safe behind the glass.”

I still. Something in my chest pulls tight, sharper than I expect, and I have to force it down before it reaches my face. The reaction is immediate enough to annoy me.

He passes me a notepad and a black pen.

“This is yours. Take down anything you feel is necessary. We’ll review it afterwards.” He gestures to the file. “What do you make of it so far?”

I take the pen, press the tip against the paper, and make myself focus.

“There’s not much information to go off but...” I say slowly. “Silence like this isn’t passive. It’s protection or leverage.”

Peter watches me carefully. “So?”

“So, he’s not afraid,” I say. “And he’s not panicking. Which means whatever we’re dealing with here isn’t reactive, especially if this has been going on for a month.”

I straighten, squaring my shoulders.

“Whatever he’s protecting,” I say quietly, “he believes it’s worth more than his freedom.”

For the first time since I arrived, something shifts in Peter’s expression. Not surprise exactly, but recognition. Approval.

He nods once. “Quite right.”

The words settle heavily in my chest.

“Good work, Doctor Ainsley,” he says after a moment, quieter now. “Maybe your colleagues were right about the mind reader thing after all.”

Heat crawls faintly up my neck, but it doesn’t settle properly. Because even with Peter’s approval sitting warm in my chest, something still feels off.

Sitting behind glass. Just watching.

It feels wrong in a way I can’t quite explain yet, like I’m being kept away from something I’m supposed to touch.

Chapter Five

Rheda