'Five.'
Liam stared.
Then stared harder, narrowing his red eyes because surely the number would become less offensive if observed with enough hostility.
It did not.
His brain, which had been built for engineering models, ether-flow analysis, structural failure prediction, and surviving Felix Canmore's household without committing open murder, performed the intellectual equivalent of tripping down a staircase.
Five.
Five what? Five reports? Five hours? Five business days?
Liam picked up the tablet with the delicate care of a man handling unstable explosives.
'Five what?'
The answer came immediately, like Arik was waiting for the exact message.
'Minutes.'
Liam stopped functioning.
For one full second, there was nothing in his head except clean white static and the distant sensation of his own dignity collapsing somewhere in the background.
