Liam was in a bathroom.
That, by itself, was not the problem.
Bathrooms were rooms with locks, plumbing, mirrors, and polished surfaces designed to make bad decisions look even worse under controlled lighting.
The problem was that Liam was in a bathroom inside the diplomatic residence assigned to the Agaron delegation, and he did not quite understand how he had reached it.
No.
That was not true.
He understood the route. His memory was annoyingly functional. Dining room, corridor, security checkpoint, and second-floor private wingsuite doors were opened by Agaron staff who had somehow behaved as if Liam's presence there had been scheduled three weeks ago and notarized by six departments.
What he did not understand was how Arik had manipulated him into staying.
Liam gripped the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection.
Everything is madness. Total madness.
