It feels like Daniel is levering open a bear trap, just as ready to snap back and crush if it slips. This is not true, probably, but the command shivers, tense, as it's drawn back.

Enough braincells align on Lestat's end of things, not not induced by the threat of an Armand summoning, and there is the sense for Daniel of clawing hands climbing up his arm as he assists in his own rescue. Up on all fours, one foot sliding out and a knee striking concrete as if operating under heavy gravity, but here, he is fine, eyes wild with rageful blood tears and fangs long enough in his mouth that it distorts his words as he says—

"I'm going," informative, as assuring as words through gritted teeth can be, and maybe as much to himself as to Daniel. The hilt of the sword is snatched at, metal scraping along as he works on getting his feet under him. No idea what's happening with the phone, who could possibly help in this moment, shoved aside as irrelevant as the last of that odd sense of gravity is shaken loose.

He had heard a revved engine, a sliding metal door. He can scent the elder vampire on the wind, and Louis, through the smells of blood and scorched vampire flesh, and it won't last. But it's a start.