Easy to conceptualize New Orleans at the turn of the century. Surreal, almost unnerving, to fully engage with the reality that the man driving his car is recalling events in his life from five hundred years ago. Is it smart to ask him to go back there, when he, apparently, might actually humor him and answer?

Daniel holds his hand out between them, flat over the center console. It does not tremor.

Tempting to stare at it for an eternity. Does he move because the car moves? Or because he doesn't have control over it? But after a long moment he drops it, because at some point he has to stop watching. Or he will stare at it for an eternity. A recovery is never full until it never comes back, and finality is gone from him now.

Armand was more afraid of the sickness coming back than he was about being a monster. Something about that is powerfully comforting, even though it roils in him, too. Could be that this is too soon to try to make peace, even secretly.

Too late now, they're in the fucking car. There are bodies between them like—

Whatever they were doing.

"Hey."

He points at the turnoff. Let's go look at the stupid leaves.