Striding over the lawn beside him, Armand offers a light, graceful shrug. He slips his hands into his pockets.

"Does it matter?" It doesn't, to Armand. "She would have died the same way, choking and drowning on her own blood. My knowing her name wouldn't have made it any easier for her, or any more satisfying for me."

He skates a glance over to John in the darkness, his pupils reflecting the small sources of light.

"Do you believe her death would have been insignificant to me?"