Daniel only has one of his hands, so Armand can lift the other one to touch his fledgling's face, tracing those frown lines across his skin, the gentle markers of age that will be frozen forever in time.

"He was my maker, my murderer." To quote a fascinating boy, back in the Dubai penthouse. But Armand's voice is soft, not accusatory. Sympathetic. Trying to remember what it was like to be human. With Daniel, it feels almost easy.

"You've made commitments to me that nobody ever has." He strokes Daniel's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "That nobody else ever will. I will never make another. That can be enough. But, as you said.." He attempts a smile. "Cute, meaningless."