"No?" Armand looks at Daniel steadily, seeing the wariness in him, the inner conflict that rattles his sharp mind. Seeing, behind the lines and aging mortal body, the young man he was. Lonely, lost, aching for the quiet. All of it still within him. Pity and sorrow shine together in Armand's copper eyes.

From within the house there's a rising chatter and the sudden sound of something breaking, a crash of porcelain against a hard floor. A burst of laughter and shouted implications from a group of voices. You broke the fucking jug, idiot and I'm too hungover for this. Spell broken, Armand's gaze flickers towards the noise. His mouth thins with distaste. He turns away from Daniel, pulling the towel from around his neck and tossing it onto the sun lounger as he approaches the pool.

"Thank you for your advice, Mr Molloy," he says, over his shoulder. "I hope you enjoy your breakfast."