“Cot. Leg room. Better company than a guy who smells like month-old onions.” Arla shrugged. “A train sounds like heaven.”
	Exactly how cliché her question about his age had been washed over her when he laughed. She cringed inwardly, frowning, but instead of pointing that out, he offered a playful reprimand. Her smile returned.
	She shrugged lightly. “The rules of social engagement are overrated.” 
	She blinked at him when he gave his age. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze trialed after him as he hurried ahead of her, trying to decide whether he was being serious, or messing with her. Deciding he’d answered seriously, she made a mental note that even half-vampires were, indeed, some form of immortal.
	“Well, aren’t you fancy?” She nodded her thanks to him for opening the gate. “Must say, you look pretty good for your age, Gramps.” She smirked at him as she strode out into the trainyard behind the fairgrounds. 
	A pleasant shudder ran through her as she stepped into the shadow cast by the fence. The light from the fairground still spilled over into the trainyard, but it was a relief to be away from the worst of the artificial glare.
	She stepped aside and turned quickly to face Rayth, not yet willing to keep her back to the half-bloodscuker.
	Movement caught her eye further down the fence. Someone had pointed a few floodlights toward a section of train cars. She squinted at the stinging light. The illumination turned the forms of workers into blurred, vaguely human-shaped blotches as they loaded equipment onto the train.
	She looked away quickly, the night coming into focus easier than the hazy workers. She looked back to Rayth, waiting for him to lead the way to the passenger cars. 
	“So, what,” she began, “Do you age slower, or are you an eternal teenager?”