"Will it? He'll get better at remembering old memories, or retaining new ones? Because far be it from me to try and apply science to you guys' whole Dark Gift deal," he continues with biting irony, a mild judgement at that particularly melodramatic turn of phrase always layered in whenever he has to use it. "That's just not how our brains work. If the data's wiped, it's wiped."

Right? Though of course, he knows sometimes the data isn't wiped, but all the links are gone, the pathways forgotten. And then one day a particular song or smell or phrase builds a bridge back to a memory you didn't even know you couldn't remember. And sometimes it isn't even accurate, the cracks all papered over with assumptions and similarities, someone else's experience you read in an article once, a dream you've forgotten was a dream. Daniel loves and hates memory at the same time, and he's only a fraction of the age of Louis who, he gets the impression, is a fraction of the age of Armand.

Which is the fascination, of course. Once you get past "immortals are real", the questions all beg themselves. He doesn't want to write a journalist's article about Armand, he wants to write a doctoral thesis in psychology about the guy.

Well. Once he stops being pissed about being manipulated and lied to. Once the deep down spooked prey instinct settles a little.