Daniel, hurrying to catch up and find him, an earnest question out of his mouth, eyes bright. Something in that that's pleasing. Endearing?

Maybe not every twinge of abnormal emotion needs analysis.

"Yes," says Armand, turning to him, book held at his side. "I've observed it before, between maker and fledgling. It's not reliable, or a secret means of communication, but," a gesture, half a shrug. Something like throwing one's voice, something like relying on that inexplicable bond to pick up the other's words in the wind, automatically honing incredible hearing in on a single note in the symphony.

Hey.

"If a naysayer of yours is found dead each appearance, that may lend some credence to your authorial honesty."

Just an idea. Vampires among us. He's kidding, by the way. It's hard to tell.