"The bus is a random event. Your assassins are doing their job."

Armand glances at the employee, who is attempting to summon some courage to find the right place to shuffle him along. Even in this current get up, unassuming jewel tones and cute hair and glasses that veil the intensity of his vampire eyes, it's difficult not to exude something, some sense of warning.

Or, perhaps, he doesn't care not to. "The vampire selects."

And, as for the blank page, he supplies, "Rakesh," easy. "And I don't know. The story, I suppose. It feels nearly true."