It is not intention that brings Max to Anne tonight. It is something else. Something old, and deep, and wild. It is a thing that has run through Max centuries now an may yet run through her centuries more. It draws her to Anne as a magnet draws cold iron.

Or perhaps that is a pretty tale she tells herself because she wants it to be so, words she uses to dress up her love and her loneliness, her guilt and and her stubborn determination.

Whatever it is, Max finds Anne at the bar. She sees her with her victim, and she does not ask herself if the man deserved it. Anne deserves this, and that has been worth the pain and the discomfort of a thousand men over the hear, make no doubt of that.

Max stands and watches, standing as tall as she can in her heels and her modern clothes.

"Do not stop on my account."