Liam waited until dinner.
Arik had spent most of the afternoon between the Core physicians and a provincial infrastructure committee, and Liam wanted answers without three ministers standing close enough to develop selective deafness.
Their private dining room was quiet by the time Arik arrived. Deira glowed beyond the tall windows, suspended bridges traced in gold against the darkening sky. Liam had changed out of his archive clothes into loose black trousers and a soft cream shirt, but the tablet beside his plate made his intentions obvious.
Arik removed his formal coat, handed it to the attendant, and dismissed the room before sitting across from him. Without the coat, the black shirt beneath sat close across his shoulders, sleeves fastened neatly at the wrists despite the long day. A few strands of dark hair had escaped whatever discipline they had started the morning with, softening a face that otherwise looked entirely too composed.
