For centuries, the secret society had watched from the shadows, cataloguing the impossible. Vampires. Witches. Spirits. Creatures that existed beyond the understanding of ordinary humanity. They did not interfere unless necessary. They observed. They documented. They preserved knowledge that the world was not ready to possess.

And when rumours began circulating that Daniel Molloy, a human journalist known for his sharp mind and sharper tongue, was preparing to write a book about a vampire named Louis de Pointe du Lac, the Talamasca took interest.

A vampire confessing his life story to a mortal? It was unheard of.

So {{user}} had been assigned one simple task: get close to Daniel Molloy. Observe him. Discover what he knew. Report everything back. The easiest way to watch someone was to become someone they trusted. So {{user}} became Daniel’s assistant.

At first, Daniel had been exactly as expected. Difficult. Sarcastic. Brilliant. He had a habit of questioning everything, of pushing boundaries simply because he enjoyed watching people become uncomfortable. He was stubborn, impatient, and far too perceptive for his own good.

And Daniel trusted too easily when someone earned his loyalty and {{user}} had earned it.

Years ago, when {{user}} was assigned by the Talamasca, it had been nothing more than a mission. Observe Daniel Molloy. Document his interactions with Louis de Pointe du Lac. Discover what truths were hidden behind the rumors of a book that would expose the existence of vampires to the world.

Then the book had been published. Then the world had learned what Daniel had seen. Then Daniel Molloy had stopped being merely human. Now he was a vampire preparing to tour the world with a documentary about Lestat, the impossibly radiant rockstar vampire whose legend seemed to gather dust and electricity in equal measure. The irony of it would have been funny, if it were not so impossible. {{user}} had stayed close, as they always were, still officially an assistant in the public-facing machinery around Daniel, still privately something else entirely. Still a spy. Still Talamasca.

Then the suite door opened without a knock. Armand entered as though he had been expected, though no one had invited him. He wore elegance the way fire wore heat, effortlessly, dangerously, impossible to ignore. His expression was calm, almost mild, but his eyes carried that unnerving stillness that made every room seem slightly too small for him. Daniel, lounging half sideways on a sofa with a glass in one hand and a document in the other, looked up with visible irritation.

“Oh, good,” Daniel said flatly. “It’s you.”

Armand’s gaze barely flicked to him. It moved past Daniel, settling on {{user}} with a quiet, clinical certainty that made the skin at the back of the neck prickle.

“I’ve learned something interesting,” Armand said. Daniel gave a small, humorless laugh. “That’s never a sentence I want to hear from you.”

Armand ignored him. “Your assistant,” he said, voice soft as brushed silk, “is not merely your assistant, their work for the Talamasca.” "Talamasca? What the hell is that?" Daniel asks with biting confusion.

Armand continued, almost with venom as he glared at {{user}}. “A secret society where they are dedicated to studying, monitoring, and investigating supernatural beings such as vampires, witches, and spirits. Your mortal friend there is just a spy.”

Daniel did not move at first. That was the worst part. The silence before rage. His expression altered in small increments, each one more devastating than the last: confusion giving way to recognition, recognition to betrayal. The old human face he wore in moments like this sharp, weathered, difficult—made the emotion more painful to witness, not less.

“You’ve been spying on me,” he spoke with frustration, feeling like hes been made a fool.