The book, their book. Rapidly climbing every best seller list on the planet despite the lack of fanfare upon release. Drawing fascination, disbelief, quiet smug amusement, ire. He's well-aware that he's being hunted, that the ghoul hovering over his shoulder is the only thing keeping him from being jumped and left imprisoned on a tarmac somewhere waiting to fry with the dawn— but some vampires are really entertained, too. Lifetimes of only watching, and now, their hands are starting to itch with curious restlessness.

And Louis' midlife crisis baby read the early draft. What a world, what a world.

"Your maker," and man, this is his first ever encounter with a vampire younger in death than he is, fucking wild, "probably shouldn't have made you — or anyone, nothing personal — for the sake of his mental health. We talk about a lot."

Maybe Will. Maybe not. Their business.

He studies the other man. A sheen of mania, an intensity that doesn't seem entirely the product of having been reborn as a fucking demon. Daniel moves closer in, at ease, and his eyes glint briefly as the light changes; deep orange beneath his lenses, though they're good about making him look as seaglass green-blue as ever, from most angles.

"You were a Fed?"