The reference to Lestat draws a brief and admittedly childish smile out of Armand, though it fades quickly. He listens to the beat of Daniel's heart, the mortal sadness in his thoughts, and considers the long journey that has brought them both here. The years and miles unspooling behind them. A linoleum floor in a San Francisco walk up. Curtains drawn across the windows. A desperate young man, young in a way that Armand and Louis had never been allowed to be young.

"Daniel," Armand murmurs, watching him. He moves on the couch, shifting his weight closer once more. Raises his hand to brush the backs of his fingers over Daniel's cheek. He's sorry, in a way, for how they've used him.