Mentally drained didn't do justice to Liam's state. He wasn't even at his wits' end. The battlefield of ideas was long behind him since he had suffered a complete defeat.
Even after the most extreme, collapse-inducing abuse, Liam could still somewhat keep his groggy mind working. Yet, it was empty now, devoid of any life or activity, going through the motions without recording anything at all.
Before Liam knew it, and honestly, with him barely noticing, he found himself in one of the luxurious halls on the palace's third floor. He sat at a low marble table by the balcony with the best view over the Tribe, a cup full of tasty wine in his hand.
Liam wasn't alone. He obviously wasn't. Rather than the usual armchair, he sat on a cushioned bench of sorts, spacious enough for three people, which didn't stop Rachel from staying glued to him.
