Drifting in and out. Daniel is a little aware, in between bouts of something near true sleep; his phone pings, and he forwards the email from Raglan to Louis, so that he can sift through it and see if he sees anyone familiar, anyone that can be matched to voices he's heard out in the Many. There are notes about the NYC 'coven', that they've always been extremely independent and disinclined to tangle with drama; this includes a telephoto-lens picture of Armand on a park bench with a woman with short hair, middle of the day. Daniel assumes the photographer is dead, now, which under normal circumstances would be a little funny.

(Brief spike of anxiety. Are there pictures of Armand at Daniel's book signings, in there? He and Armand getting in a cab to go back to his apartment? But there aren't any. Just what he asked for, nothing more.)

Jolting awake when roomba squad returns. Alright, okay. Blearily catching up, scrubbing through the feed of the weird area—

"Why, so the police can come back here and ask us why we have a suit squad that's infringing on their work?"

You GUYS.

"Gimme a minute." Thinking, flopped back on the sofa with his knees up, staring at the tablet still as it's held a few inches from his face. "What's out there, like cafes and photo-op spots at the harbor, shit like that?"

Polling the staff who went out there. He sifts through Google Maps.