Liam's room honestly resembled a presidential office more than it did a warzone, which was usually how Liam left the state of his rooms.
Seating himself on the posh seat behind the mahogany desk, Liam reclined and waited for Jargon to explain the events of the past six years.
Testing his brand new sea of consciousness was on the back of his mind, but it could wait.
"Take a seat, if you'd like," Liam said. "We might be here a while."
"I'll stand, sir," Jargon said firmly, crossing his hands behind his back. "Where do I begin?"
"Beginning, of course."
Jargon took a brief pause.
"Well, the alliance is still up and running. The Pashah sent you a get-well postcard once he realized you were in a coma."
Liam arched his brow. Jargon gestured at his ring with a wry smile.
Liam peered through it again, taking out a little black card, made of regular paper and colored with regular red ink.
