Having Louis at his side once more eases something inside Armand, something vulnerable and deeply hidden, resented as much as it's loved, that nonetheless tells in the slight relaxation of his body, the widening of his smile. He reaches out his hand to thread his fingers through Louis', palm against beloved palm. Remembering their walks along the Seine, the Mississippi, the Rhine, their long nights exploring the cities of the world together.

"Days," he says, listening to his quarry stumble along the gravel path through the maze, blissfully unaware of his death strolling behind him, "I think. There is a dark power in this place, it clouds the mind. I mean to discover its nature."

He's not fond of the idea of being caged. Not again. He casts a look at Louis, a flicker of concern.

"It separated us."