Marin left the room ten minutes later, carrying the tablet, three locked scan copies, and the expression of a man who intended to keep analyzing Liam's ether channels even if someone forced him into bed, under threat, with better tea.
Liam suspected Marin would sleep with the data open beside him.
Or perhaps above him, projected over the ceiling like a deeply cursed bedtime story.
Outside, night had already settled over the diplomatic palace. The windows had turned dark and reflective, catching the dim gold of the lamps, the blurred outline of security moving beyond the curtains, and the faint image of Liam himself sitting too quietly in a room that had suddenly become larger than it had been that morning.
Truthfully, he did not know how to feel about it.
That was the most problematic part.
