Daniel rubbed his eyes and started jolting notes again, his growing frustration really evident. "I would prefer if we just focused on this interview that I have been tasked with completing as Kerrang will be out for my blood if I bring them in vague ramblings of ancient things when they expect a centrefold story of Nicky Vail"
Not politely — professionally. The way a man listens when he’s trying to decide whether the person across from him is a prophet, a lunatic, or something far more dangerous.Daniel’s pen hovered again, but this time he didn’t write. He watched Nicky’s face, the way memory softened it, the way dread sharpened it again when he spoke of ancient hungers and waking kings.
"Protection-" Daniel repeated, quietly. "That’s a hell of a word to use on a journalist you’ve known for—what—forty minutes?"He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the recorder between them like a third presence.
"You’re talking about something big. Bigger than vampires, bigger than the Talamasca, bigger than whatever the hell you think Lestat is stirring up. And you’re telling me you were brought back for it?But you’re also telling me you called me."
He let that sit. Let Nicky feel the weight of it.
"Look, I’ve had my share of visions, nightmares, psychic bleed‑through, whatever label you want to slap on it. I’ve seen things I can’t explain. But I’m not a witch, I’m not a seer, and I’m not a soldier in some ancient blood war. So if you want me to take your warning seriously, you need to tell me why the hell I matter."
He flipped to a clean page in his notebook.
"And don’t give me the poetic answer. Give me the real one."
Daniel let the silence stretch, then softened it with something almost wry.
"You said your life started with the violin. Fine. But you’re not a street player now. You’re not a law student sneaking into theaters. You’re… what? A reincarnated Renaissance musician with a Spotify presence?"
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.
"Tell me about the band."
He tapped his pen against the page.
"Who found you? Who plays with you? What’s the sound and don’t tell me it’s just a hobby"His gaze sharpened again, the smirk fading.
"Music was the beginning for you. So what is it now? A cover? A calling? A warning system? Or is it the only thing that still feels like yours after being dragged back into a world that shouldn’t have you?"
Daniel leaned back, recorder still running, voice low and steady.
"Start there, Nicky. Start with the band. Because that’s the part of this story that tells me who you are now — not just who you were when you burned."
