Not the same as remembering San Francisco. No recording. Daniel hasn't worked his theory out in advance. He isn't seated adjacent to Louis with all his notes and his evidence, steady even as Louis falters.

And Louis does falter.

Not because he doesn't know the answer to the question. He has it, brow creasing into a frown as he thinks back. The memory comes hazily into focus, soft-edged, fogged even as Louis says, "A movie."

Half a thought, answer pared down to bare bones, while Louis' mind races ahead of the question. Dreamy flashbulb pops of recollection, the afterimage burning behind his eyes.

Armand looking down at him, his fingers in Daniel's hair.

How blank Daniel's eyes had been.

And after—