Page 101 of Somno Slave

My stomach twists at it, the reaction sharp and immediate, too close to guilt to ignore.

A part of me wants to know if it would feel the same again. Would he look up at me again? Would he put on another show for me?

Heat pulls low before I can stop it.

“God,” I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand down my face, trying to push the thought away before it settles.

I need to see him.

To observe.

To confirm.

If there’s anything in his behaviour, anything that suggests awareness beyond what should be possible, I’ll see it. I’ll recognise it. I’ll be able to pull this back into something clinical. Something structured. Something I understand.

My jaw tightens.

That should work. It has to.

I MOVE THROUGH THEbuilding, letting the familiarity carry me where I need to go. The corridors, the doors, the quiet hum of systems running behind walls that never quite feel like they belong to the surface.

Everything is exactly as it should be.

That helps, a little.

By the time I reach the viewing room, the others are already here. They don’t look up to greet me; their attentions are locked onto the monitors.

My gaze goes straight to the glass.

I don’t hesitate.

I don’t give myself time to think about what I’m looking for.

I just—

The lights are off.

The room beyond the glass is darker than I’ve ever seen it, the usual brightness gone completely. The shape of him is still visible, just barely, a silhouette more than a person. The lines of his body are reduced to outline and shadow, his head lowered, his posture unchanged.

The monitors beside Peter flicker with data.

Vitals.

Movement tracking.

My ribs pull tight like my body is bracing for impact.

“What’s this?” The question leaves me before I can stop it.

Peter doesn’t look at me straight away. He adjusts something on the console first, his focus still on the screens, then leans back slightly.

“New approach,” he says.

Something in the way he says it makes my stomach drop.

“Withdrawal.” Peter smiles. “Complete sensory deprivation. No light, sound. Minimal interaction.”

My fingers press into the edge of the desk. “For how long?”