Page 51 of Somno Slave

Her eyebrows lift. “That serious?”

“Something like that.”

She watches me for a second longer than she needs to, like she’s deciding whether to push further, then lets it go with a small shrug. “Fine. Be mysterious. It suits you.”

She gives me a quick wink, then her expression shifts, just slightly.

“You do look a bit worn out though,” she adds, gentler now, studying my face. “When was the last time you actually relaxed?”

“I am relaxed.”

She snorts. “You’re really not. You’ve got that Rheda look on, like you’re analysing the room.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” she says, smiling. “And it’s weird. Stop it.”

I look down at my glass.

She leans closer, voice lowering. “Just for tonight, you don’t have to be ‘on’.”

She slides a drink closer.

I push it back just as fast. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

“So do I,” she laughs. “But life can’t just be that.”

She softens her voice. “Talk to someone. Flirt. Have fun. You deserve a night off, Rheda.”

For a second, I actually consider it. The idea of letting something go. Of not watching every movement in the room, not tracking every tone shift, not holding myself quite so tightly together...it feels unfamiliar. Dangerous, in a quiet, unnameable way.

I don’t realise I’ve gone still until Olivia’s attention shifts.

“Him,” she says suddenly, low and certain.

I follow her gaze.

There’s a guy at the bar looking over. He’s half-turned toward us, elbow resting on the counter, a drink loose in his hand. Nothing remarkable about him—just neat enough. Plain dark T-shirt, jeans, hair that looks like he’s run a hand through it onceand left it there. Handsome, sure. But the kind of face you’d forget five minutes after looking away.

He meets my eyes for a second, then smiles—quick, almost apologetic—and looks down at his drink like he’s been caught doing something mildly embarrassing.

Olivia nudges my shoulder. “See? Easy.”

I exhale slowly. “I don’t think—”

“I do,” she cuts in. “Just talk to him. You never know.”

I hesitate before picking up the drink. The glass is colder than I expect. Damp against my fingers. I pause, just for a second, then take a sip. It burns. I feel it move down, spreading, settling low in my chest like something loosening its grip.

“I’m calling him over,” she says. I don’t have time to argue before she lifts her hand and crooks her finger in a small, confident beckon across the room.

When he realises she’s looking at him, there’s a flicker of confusion first. Then something softer. He points at himself, just to check.

Olivia nods once. “Yeah, you.”

He hesitates before making his way over. There’s a flush already creeping up his neck by the time he reaches us.

Olivia doesn’t give him a chance to hover.