Durand woke near midnight to something that was not a sound, but not quite a feeling either. The stump of his arm throbbed with an irrepressible heat that permeated throughout his body, rising within him until he couldn't help but toss the covers off and sprawl, shirtless, on the bed in an attempt to relieve it. But of course the cool air did little, if anything at all; physical reality had little bearing on the powers at work here. Even if he were to submerge himself in the Seine, this fever would remain. It was a heat that burned from inside, not out, and could only be extinguished by the one who created it.
Maximilien's soul was calling.
Almost in a daze, Durand rose, dressing himself with relative ease; he had had almost a year to adapt to his circumstances, after all. He could have restrained himself further if he wished, waited until the heat became truly unbearable, but at this point it was easier to let his body act as it would. Durand being who he was, he had fought
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