Orange, blood red, not-quite-brown. Deepening layers of it. Daniel has, indeed, noticed; his own shift between clear blue and orange is either more striking or more comical, depending on your point of view. He's glad he doesn't have to watch himself, in any event.

"Dominoes."

One falls, then another, then a hundred. He's not in a hurry to be on law enforcement's radar, not in a hurry to end up entrenched in an increasingly high profile series of kills to get out of a jam. He rationalizes murder just fine, he doesn't need more layers. Besides—

"I want to write the book about the first open vampire to end up in court over biological imperatives," he says, "not star in the documentary. Let somebody else fall on that one."

This little bit of celebrity is fine. It gets him money and the occasional hookup and certain freedoms, which is a nice offset to tanking the credibility of his career (for now). He will pass on more, especially if it comes with restricting his freedoms. Like jail. Pass on jail. Meanwhile: he gives Armand a look.

"Are you keeping track?"