Sam lounged behind the DJ booth, one hand drumming against the mixer while he watched the figure approach through the crowd.

The years since Paris had taught him many things: how to disappear, how to survive, and how to smile when the Talamasca started asking inconvenient questions. He'd answered some. Lied about others. Tonight, though, he was more interested in the stranger in front of him. He tilted his head, studying with amused curiosity before offering a crooked grin.

“Well then,” he said, accent thick, shutting off the music for a moment. “Were you looking for me, or has trouble found you again?”