He thinks about these things like pins on a map, or a research board; no string involved (usually). In this case the string would be moving, anyway. But it flows along with the way he's connected this to the work he does, it's just a matter of him being able to keep up with it. Easier when he can maintain a line of sight, easier when it's the only thing he's doing, easier when he's not second-guessing the choice of victim.

But Daniel is a fast learner, and he cares more about figuring this out and observing what he can about Armand than he does about the morality.

"Now?"

An odd question. He's not sure what to make of it at first, because everything is both more and less human to him, now. More because it's becoming defining. Less because he feels detached. But he figures Armand means before, actually, and is picking at Daniel's process. So. Reverse back for a less stupid response—

"Everybody's a puzzle." This should be a hard truth, about himself. Something that's been used as an accusation, treating the world like an investigation, seeing everyone in terms of a story and relationships as angles. And yet it's just the way he is. Accepted now that he's ruined every romance, every familial tie, every potential life-long friend. "That probably qualifies as appearing less than human. But I usually like people better when they're puzzles."

He shrugs. Distantly, he traces Armand's chosen mark as he moves around barriers to the water's edge.