How quickly it had passed, that liminal space between the interview's end and Daniel's call. A moment of possibility. Lestat in his arms, a promise to speak more and regularly. The thought of Daniel's friendship, because it felt like that is what they parted with. Color stealing into the townhouse, piece by piece of art and furniture. Possibility, blooming and clipped in record time.

Does he need anything else?

A room. The penthouse suite will do. No need to worry after his luggage, he has staff, but if his American friend returns, please, he would like to be notified immediately.

Door closed, staff dispersed to the airports to gather what information possible about departures, Louis removes his shoes and coat. Drains a blood bag. Answers Lestat's three text messages. He will need to sleep, cannot put it off forever.

But not yet.

Smooths Daniel's letter across one knee, and reads it again. Lets his fear give way to anger, lets the anger become fuel.

Reaches out, falling into the flow of thought swirling in the air, vampire and human alike, touching all the overlapping, intertwining threads, until the familiarity of Daniel snags him like a hook on a line.

Daniel, as a whisper. So, so tentative. Aware of the risk inherent in this.