The tears come, a wet sheen spilling over as Lestat speaks.

"I felt her go," he admits. "Madeleine."

His. His fledgling. His—

His mind skips over the word daughter.

"I could hear Claudia screaming," slowly, trying to piece together the memory. It's warped, distorted by fear, and panic, and pain. "Until they closed me in."

His fingers clench in Lestat's grip, while his opposite hand balls into a fist over his knee.

"Did she say anything?" Louis asks, the question cracking as he speaks it.