Slinking around in the minds of Louis' staff, the hotel's staff, the very nervous Talamasca spy huddled in the stock room of the fancy restaurant across the street. No dangers cone calling during the day, and Daniel's solo excursion brings no threats. Armand is only a little bothered to see him slide towards bad habits, overshadowed by how actually bothered he is to his his fledgling driven to it.

Lestat leaves, and so he deems this as an acceptable time to take a closer look. The majordomo, a woman he thinks he remembers from a lesser position once upon a time in their Emirates home, is biddable enough, and quite easy to hitch a ride through as she busies herself with preparations to leave. It puts his psychic presence in close proximity with Louis', and he thinks—

That he will look, because he's curious. A pang of genuine concern. They were companions for a long time, and Armand had loved him once, and he knows he will not feel nothing if Louis is destroyed by one of these angry vampires.

It's quick. Like a mirage at the corner of one's vision. An impression of Armand in the room, perhaps turning over a decorative throw pillow to set it in a more aesthetically tidy position, or there in the dark reflection of window glass, watching the room while making a note on his tablet organizer. A memory of incense that smells like him, the cigarettes he favored in Paris. Blink and gone.