"He likes you." Armand points it out without a trace of jealousy, or perhaps a jealousy so carefully practised at not being jealousy that it's worn to transparent thinness, the sharpness of the blade no less for the delicacy of the cut. There's a smile on his face that's no artifice, but the same warmth which appears whenever he has a chance to talk about Louis.

"I suggested getting rid of you. He objected, until I pointed out that I meant to put you on a plane and send you home." This, of course, doesn't mean that Daniel is wrong. Only that he had been wrong about their dynamic at that particular time.

"And," he adds, his gaze growing a touch more shadowed. He plucks at the hem of his sleeve, a froth of lace. "It is not you, they will be after."