The city pulsed with life beneath the cover of night, all neon veins and restless hunger. Lestat moved through it like he belonged to the darkness itself, drawing eyes wherever he went. Tonight's stage was a nightclub carved from an old cathedral, stained glass glowing red beneath strobe lights. Lestat adored the irony.

Dressed in white, he stood at the bar watching the crowd, listening to music that was louder than beauty had any right to be.

“C’est la même chanson,” he murmured. The same song, only louder.

Then he felt it. A presence that didn't vanish into the noise. Curious, Lestat turned, eyes bright with interest. He lifted his glass in silent invitation, a wolfish smile touching his lips.

“À la vie éternelle.”

The lights flickered. The music shifted. And suddenly, the night became interesting.