Page 168 of Somno Slave

My mouth dries. “What am I being careful of?”

“You’re watching the wrong thing,” he says, his lip curling into a smile.

“I’m observing your restraints,” I reply. “Which is exactly what I should be doing.”

His head tilts, slight, controlled, but enough to change the angle of him. His gaze drags over me in a slow, sweeping touch.

“You should be watching yourself.”

“You’re attempting to destabilise the interview,” I say, flustered. I readjust in my chair like that will help the heat in my cheeks.

“You’re already destabilised.”

I swallow hard. “I am in control of this interrogation.”

“Sure, you are.” Deogal tilts his head. And this time the almost-smile settles properly, subtle but undeniable. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Deogal

Her entire body locks, and it’s beautiful to watch the dark colour fan across her cheeks. She counts her breaths, forces them low and steady, but it doesn’t work. I can hear every shallow inhale as though she’s already pressed up against my chest.

I shift forward. “Ask me something more interesting. What do youreallywant to know?”

She stills. “What makes you think I want to ask a different question?”

She follows procedure like it’s dogma. She’s painfully aware that all eyes are on her and there is no version of this where her job leaves unscathed.

I let the silence rot between us. Her pulse kicks hard, wild and uneven, gaze briefly flicking to the cameras above me. I feel the exact second frustration settles into her skin, when restraint starts to crack and something uglier pushes through.

A smile drags at the corner of my mouth.

She stares at me, voice tighter now. “What’s so funny?”

I stay silent.

“You must be proud of yourself. Is that why you’re smiling?” She pushes.

“Is it a crime to smile, Doctor?”

She presses her pen so hard into the paper that the ink splutters out and stains a dark circle over her own name.

“Do you enjoy making me uncomfortable?”

“Yes.” I answer quickly.

Her eye twitches. There is a long pause before she shifts forward in her chair, bravery staining the tip of her tongue. “You won’t talk to Peter because you think you can frighten me. Tell me, Deogal, do you think it’s easier to scare women?”

Her brain keeps searching for structure, for explanations, for somewhere safe to place me. That instinct is going to ruin her.

I shake my head. “No.”

She releases a small breath, like a sigh of relief.

“I don’t think it’s easier to scare women.” I continue. “But I do think it’s easier to scareyou.”

I push forward. “Tell me, Doctor. Do I frighten you?”