He smiled too, at the thought of John Preston drinking tea and eating ginger biscuits. "I hope that he enjoyed them. I really do. Preston's had far too little tea and ginger biscuits in his life."
Errol felt the shame blossom deep in his chest and looked away. "I can't promise that," he said quietly. "Everyone dies." Even those damned vampires that seemed to have made the City their home could die, from what he'd read. "There are no exceptions. I can't lie to you about that."
But he'd been lying to her, even if it was a series of lies by omission, since they'd met. Even now, she might think that he'd died a hero's death when it had been anything but. He let go of her reluctantly, unable to stand the weight of that lie on his conscience any more and unwilling to taint her with the stain of the truth through his touch, if such a thing was possible. "I wanted to die," he said quietly.