Page 55 of Somno Slave

She takes a drink. Then another. I track the rhythm of it, the small changes it makes. The way her mouth lingers a fraction longer on the rim of the glass. The way her eyes lose that sharp edge, that constant awareness.

She’s letting it go.

Lettingthemhave it.

My teeth press together slowly, pressure building behind it. It spreads through my jaw, into my neck.

The man beside her leans in, says something that makes her smile. Not the tight, polite one she gives when she’s performing. This one is different. It reaches her eyes.

My fingers curl slightly against my thigh.

He speaks. She answers. I watch the way she turns towards him, just a fraction more than she should. The way her attention settles.

He leans in. Too close.

My fingers press harder into my leg, nails biting through fabric, grounding the shift that wants to move through me. My shoulders hold, locked in place, but there’s tension coiling underneath, something tight and waiting.

She doesn’t move away. She smiles at something he says, and it’s that same smile again—the one that reaches, the one that softens her, the one I haven’t finished taking apart yet.

He’s watching her mouth now. I can see it. The way his gaze dips, the way it lingers.

It lands in me like a violation.

And then—his arm. It settles behind her, light at first, tentative, waiting for resistance that doesn’t come. She lets it stay.

My fingers curl fully now, tendons pulling tight.

My vision narrows. The rest of the room blurs at the edges, light smearing slightly, bodies becoming shapes rather than people. The only thing that holds is them. Her. Him. The space between them that keeps closing.

The girl beside her leans in, whispers something.

I don’t hear it but I see the effect.

Rheda stills, just for a second before she looks back at him. He looks at her like he’s waiting.

Don’t you dare.

She nods. It’s small, barely there, but it’s enough.

He leans in.

I don’t breathe.

The moment stretches, every second dragging as he closes the last of the distance, as his hand shifts against her, as his mouth—touches her.

The urge to hurt him arrives sharply. It folds inward, rage coiling in on itself instead of breaking free, pressing tight against everything else.

My body doesn’t move, but every part of it isreadyto.

He holds it too long and she fucking responds. Not deeply. Not enough to matter. But it’s enough to be real.

My vision sharpens again. The line of his mouth against hers. The angle of her head. The way her body doesn’t immediately pull away.

I feel something cold slip under the heat.

Stop.

The word curls into her thoughts. Her body reacts immediately. She jerks back like she’s been burned, hand coming up between them. He startles with it, confusion flashingacross his face. He says something, and she responds quickly. There’s movement, she forces a laugh, trying to smooth the sensation over, but her eyes are already moving toward me.