The numbness was the only thing that got me through the rest of my shift. It was a thick, insulating layer between me and the world, between me and the memory of Silas's hands.
I moved through the familiar motions of my job with a robotic efficiency. I took orders, delivered food and cleared plates. My smile felt like a frozen thing on my face. The lunch rush was a blur of noise and movement that I floated through.
Silas stayed in his office for a while, then emerged to prowl the floor. But the predatory gleam in his eye was gone, replaced by a sullen, watchful tension. He didn't approach me again. He just watched. Every time I felt his gaze, a cold shiver would trace my spine.
When the clock finally ticked over to 9 p.m., I didn't feel relief. I felt a dull, heavy exhaustion. I clocked out in silence, changed out of my uniform in the empty staff locker room, and walked out the back door.
