Page 134 of Somno Slave

My cheeks burn.

“Right,” I say, “Yeah, I get that, but it just seems personal from the very first day.”

He pauses. He lets the humiliation turn my face red, then he exhales slowly, like he’s deciding whether this conversation is worth having.

He finally looks at me.

“I’ve got a newborn who doesn’t know the difference between night and day.” He says tightly. “Shift work makes it harder.”

“Oh,” I offer lamely. I’m not sure how else to respond.

He glances down briefly like he’s deciding whether to say anything, but then his gaze lifts.

“I was meant to go on paternity leave the week we started this case.” His jaw tightens slightly. “That’s not happening now, is it? So, excuse me if I seem a bit distant.”

“Gosh,” I blink back the surprise. “I didn’t know.”

There’s a pause. I can’t help asking. “Why did you take the case then?”

“I didn’t take the case.” He stills, gaze hardening. “It took me.”

The words sit between us for a second too long.

“Peter needs me for this.” He continues. “I just want it done. Clean. No complications. So, I can go home and be with my family.”

The silence burns between us uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry, Sean.” I say, quietly. “That must be hard for you.”

The muscles in his back are tight and furious, and his nostrils flare. “It’s hard for everyone. This isn’t an easy case.”

I swallow hard.

“What’s your baby’s name?” I ask quietly.

He hesitates, that small, fractional pause.

“Theo.” He doesn’t smile when he says it. Not really. It’s like he’s protecting the information by keeping it small.

“That’s nice.” I offer a small smile. “Well, let’s get this case sorted and you can go home to Theo.”

“Yeah.” He says and then pauses. His eyes flick down to the paper.

“If you’ve got nothing else to do,” he says abruptly, lifting the stack, “we need help with this.”

I frown. “What is it?”

“The write-up.” He nods toward the corridor. “Peter wants the behaviour summary tightened before the next review. He needs something to present to the board.”

“What kind of summary?” I ask carefully.

“Baseline response patterns. Threat risk. Resistance documentation.” His eyes flick to mine briefly. “The usual.”

“And you need me for that?”

“You’re the behavioural specialist,” he says plainly. “Unless you’d rather stay here answering emails.”

There’s something deliberate in his tone, but I don’t want to place it.