It is an uncomplicated place to leave the conversation, and Lestat lapses quiet. Absorbs it as a simple truth. Knows it must not be, can't be, if Louis imagines all of this as some punishment for the action, but Louis came to him, and Louis would do it again anyway.

Soaps slides away. Blood is wetted, dispersed. The bath will need to be refilled. For the minute, Lestat finds himself zoning out in a way he had not let himself be while hiding throughout the daylight. They had wanted him somewhere safe, and now he is, and his body believes it.

An ear pricking, anyway, for the sound of the garage, but he remains still, docile, even as several synapse spark together to twinge at his hunger. Soon, blood.