Page 25 of Somno Slave

But my bottom lip trembles. Because when I press my thumb to my neck—it aches too, like a bruise left implanted under the skin.

And the time dawn begins to thin, I am sitting upright on the edge of my bed, every lamp in the flat burning, with the humiliating knowledge that I am afraid to go back to sleep.

Chapter Nine

Rheda

Peter’s already by the door when I arrive.

I glance down at my watch and then back at him.

I don’t think I’m late. Time just doesn’t feel right. It’s like something has been shaved off.

“Morning,” he says. I hear it, but it takes a second to land. My throat tightens when I swallow, catching halfway like it’s forgotten how to work properly.

“Morning,” I manage.

His hand moves into my space with a plastic cup.

“Coffee,” he says. “It’s not great, but it’s warm. Drink up.”

My fingers tighten around the cup, testing it. The heat feels... distant, like it’s not quite reaching me properly. I bring it to my mouth and the first sip lodges. My throat resists it for a second too long before letting it pass. I lower the cup quickly before it happens again.

“You’re slow this morning.” He says.

I blink. “What?”

His eyes stay on me. Then he steps back, opening the space.

“Drink it,” Peter says. “I don’t need you lagging today.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes my grip tighten, but I nod anyway. “Yeah.”

He moves first, and I have no choice but to follow. I slip past him into the same chair as yesterday.

Mike leans back in his chair.

“I had a rough night too.” He exhales sharply. “I think everyone’s a bit off after yesterday.”

Sean lets out a quiet breath that might be a laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Peter doesn’t look at any of us. He’s setting his things down one at a time, like he’s giving the room time to settle rather than forcing it.

“Right, listen up.” He says.

“No assumptions today,” he turns to face us and his lips thin. “Drop everything from yesterday. It got us nowhere so we start again.”

Mike pushes back with his heel before standing. “You think he’ll even talk?”

“This is his last chance.” Peter says.

It sits weirdly.

Until what?

I don’t have a chance to let my brain catch up. His gaze drags across the room, brief, assessing. Then he nods once, more to himself than to us, and turns toward the door.

“Positions.”