The change from the palace's pressurized, gold-leafed insanity to the cool afternoon air of the courtyard should have been a relief. For Liam, it was like swapping one cage for a more mobile version of the same thing.
Arik's hand had not left his side. It was a constant, radiating heat that seemed to seep through Liam's coat, grounding him in a way that made the walk across the black-stone driveway far more bearable than it had any right to be.
Arik's motorcade was waiting. Three sleek, obsidian-black vehicles sat idle, their ether-turbines emitting a low, rhythmic purr that Liam's engineer brain instinctively recognized as the high-efficiency Agaronian standard. They didn't emit smoke, but rather a faint blue-white discharge around the vents.
