"Yeah, keep me informed." Selene had trained her son to rattle off a polite 'yes, please' in situations like this, but the habits of landed gentry had been slowly chipped away year after year, to be replaced with curt professionalism and crass humour depending on the situation. Rictor leaned his elbows against the table, and ordered beer from the waitress with an aimless order, barely even looking at her in his efforts to take in his sister.
They were both authority figures now; perhaps by having their two groups learning how to work well together, they could work together too.
"Like I said on the networks," he said, "it's like Faram's Mass came early. We're near-built to fight the undead. Just wish I knew where that Lich came from or why it's here."