Arik had spent the last twelve minutes staring at a ring.
This was not, objectively, a productive use of imperial time.
The reports waiting across his desk concerned three provincial budgets, the restructuring of Deira's eastern freight network, and a dispute between two medical foundations Liam had somehow managed to inherit and immediately offend by asking why they required separate administrative buildings.
Arik should have been working.
Instead, he sat behind Goliath's old imperial desk with one hand resting against a stack of reports and the other holding a narrow band of dark gold between his fingers.
Liam's engagement ring.
Nine months ago, Arik had placed it on his finger in the back of a heavily warded car in Wrohan while Liam threatened divorce over the possibility of wrinkled sleeves.
Six months ago, after crossing the Gate and finally having enough time to inventory what had survived the chaos, Liam had realized it was gone.
Arik remembered the exact moment.
