Chains of the Cosmos

I Can Dream About You

The sterile light of the pod stung Nora's half-open eyes as she blinked awake, her mind swirling in a haze of disorientation and nausea. Her body felt heavy, her stomach twisted into tight, nauseating knots, and her limbs were sluggish as if she were trying to move through water. The lingering effects of the sleeping pills clung to her, making her feel disconnected from reality.

Her focus shifted as she noticed him—Hap—sitting calmly on the edge of her narrow bed, his posture unnervingly composed. His dark eyes bore into her with an intensity that was impossible to ignore, his hands resting lightly on his knees. He wasn't speaking yet, but his presence was suffocating.

"Nora," he finally said, his voice unnervingly even. "Where is it?"

She blinked at him slowly, her throat dry and her mind struggling to catch up. "Where's... what?" she mumbled, her voice hoarse and barely audible.

"The sketch," he clarified, his tone sharp now. "Where did you hide it?"

Her stomach churned violently, and she turned her head away from him, clutching her middle as she fought back the urge to be sick. Hap reached for a small basin he'd placed nearby, holding it out for her. She didn't take it, waving him off weakly as she swallowed against the nausea.

"Nora," he pressed, his patience clearly waning. "I know you took it out of my briefcase. Where is it?"

She closed her eyes tightly, the weight of his presence pressing down on her like a physical force. Her lips parted, but no answer came—only shallow, shaky breaths as her body betrayed her with another wave of nausea.

"I don't have time for this," Hap snapped, his calm façade cracking as frustration seeped into his voice. "Tell me now, and I'll consider letting this slide. Otherwise..." He let the implication hang in the air, heavy and foreboding.

"I don't know... what you're talking about," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The lie tasted bitter, even to her.

Hap leaned closer, his face mere inches from hers now, his dark gaze unrelenting. "You're lying, Nora. I know you are. Do not make me go through every inch of your things. It would be much easier if you just told me."

Her lips quivered, and she clenched her fists weakly, refusing to meet his eyes. Her silence was deafening.

"You think this is a game," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "But it's not. Whatever little rebellion you're planning ends here. You will tell me where the sketch is, or I will make you regret this."

Her stomach twisted again, and she finally turned her head toward him, her pale face drawn and glistening with a cold sweat. "You can't control everything, Hap," she murmured, her defiance faint but unmistakable.

For a moment, his expression darkened, his jaw tightening as if holding back something volatile. He rose slowly from the bed, his movements calculated, and loomed over her. "You're making this harder on yourself than it needs to be," he said quietly, his tone a chilling mix of anger and disappointment.

Nora watched him through half-lidded eyes, her body trembling with a combination of nausea and the aftershocks of fear. She clutched the thin blanket tighter around herself, determined not to let him see how much he'd shaken her.

"I'll be back," Hap said after a moment, his voice low and full of warning. "And when I return, I expect answers."

He turned sharply on his heel and left the pod, the door sliding shut behind him with a sterile hiss. Nora lay motionless, her mind spinning and her body wracked with unease. Whatever reprieve she'd hoped to gain from her small act of rebellion felt impossibly far away now.