"'I don't write puff portraiture', you said," Armand says.

Agreeing, rather than making a point, although Daniel would be forgiven for not being able to differentiate the tone. Who wins literary awards, chronicling the lives of phantoms of a person on their best day? And rarely do people win those awards by trying to win awards. They do it by being built this way.

"Focus on him," back to the lesson, for a moment, "his mind. His scent. We're going to go the long way."

Attract less attention. The mark disappears around a corner, and Armand nudges their trajectory to move out of sight, if in parallel, disappearing through late night traffic, sparse crowds.

"You feel it, when you're getting close. You thrill for it, live for it. Lived," vampire jokes on purpose. "A hunt can feel the same."