Images forming in Daniel's mind. A door, stairs. An empty room.

Louis collects them, as he rises slowly to his feet. Not as effortless as it would be for Armand, this multitasking, but essential. Slipping the note into his pocket.

I'm coming to you, he promises again, the echo of spoken words reverberating behind this murmur. (I need a car, and the smuggler, Fayiz, I don't care how busy he claims to be—) The connection holds, Louis' presence clinging close, a hand on Daniel's cheek.

A pause, then:

Do you know where he went?