Page 90 of Somno Slave

I finally look at the glass, at the rise and fall that hasn’t changed. He’s so still I’d almost mistake him for listening if it were not for the glass between us.

“I think,” I say, slower now, “we should at least consider why he might want it to end that way.”

The room holds still around that, because it’s not the kind of question we’re supposed to ask. The silence stretches for far too long before Peter moves. He drags a hand across his mouth, thinking, then shakes his head slightly.

“You’re giving him too much credit.”

I pull back. “Am I?”

“Yes.” He looks back at the glass. “He’s a man in a chair who won’t talk. A psychopath with no common sense.”

The dismissal lands too easily.

“He’s a man who isn’t breaking.” I counter.

Peter doesn’t respond straight away. I can feel his attention shift to me, measuring. He studies me closely. “That doesn’t make him suicidal.”

I consider it.

“No,” I agree. “But it doesn’t mean he’s lost control either.”

Peter lets out a short, humourless laugh. “Right.”

He turns back to the console, a smile still pulling at his face. His hand moves toward a dial, adjusting the levels. He brings the microphone online just long enough for us to hear it.

Drip.

A pause.

Drip.

Then he cuts the sound for our room. The room falls quiet again.

He smiles faintly. “Let’s see how long he lasts with that.”

Water torture.

The realisation settles heavily in my mind, bringing with it everything I know about it. The breakdown. The slow erosion. The way something so small becomes unbearable when it repeats without end.

My stomach twists violently.

I look back at the glass.

The chains lie slack around him, pooled on the floor. The light above him hums faintly, too bright, too constant. A drop falls somewhere in the room beyond the glass.

I don’t hear it, but I feel it. A slow, imagined rhythm begins to form anyway, my thoughts marking the space between each impact, counting without permission.

And then, something catches.

A phrase, quiet and out of place, surfaces without warning.

Turn the sound off tomorrow.

I still.

My breath slows.

No.