Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMC989GQAGBX1ZGPFG3W21

The door rattled as three deadbolts were unlocked, the heavy barrier swinging open to reveal Eva’s flat. It was a small miracle in itself that Lucien had tracked Aurora to this specific address. The Frenchman walked with purpose, his charcoal suit as sleek as his platinum-blond hair, and a custom-made cane with an ivory handle gripped in one hand. The other tapped impatiently against his thigh. He had expected to find Aurora at her usual haunts, but she had abandoned her old life, leaving only cryptic breadcrumbs for those who knew how to look. “You’re late,” Aurora, or Rory, as he preferred to call her, greeted him without a hint of warmth. Her straight black hair was wet, evidence of a recent shower, and she stood slightly off-kilter, a bath towel clutched in one hand. An ugly scar marred her otherwise smooth, bare wrist. Despite the tension in her words, she stepped aside, allowing him entry. He wondered if anyone else would have been invited in, given the numerous security measures. “You could have aged a decade for all I cared,” she said, turning to lead him through the cramped flat. Every available surface was covered with books, their spines in a multitude of languages, and piles of parchment and leather-bound tomes. Mismatched candles illuminated an eclectic assortment of notes and charts tacked to the walls. It was as if all the world’s most arcane knowledge had been hoarded here, in this small, musty space. “This is more elaborate than your usual digs,” he remarked. “Research project,” Rory said noncommittally. He carefully positioned himself on the corner of an armchair, mindful of the cat that eyed him lazily. The scent of spices hung heavy in the air, permeating his clothes, as if he had walked through a marketplace in an exotic land. He noted the weariness in her bright blue eyes, the slight paleness beneath her tan. Rory had never been one to show vulnerability easily, so this was either serious or something she felt strongly about. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?” Rory asked, her voice sharp. Lucien allowed himself a small smile, knowing how much she hated being at a disadvantage. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and crossed one knee over the other, settling in for the negotiation ahead. “A mutual friend thought we should catch up. You’ve been hard to find.” “Nice to know some things never change. How did you find me?” Her voice was low, guarding against anyone eavesdropping, he suspected. He played his trump card, the one he knew she couldn’t refuse. “I need your help.” Lucien watched as the knowledge sank in. She was a creature of her own invention, one who prided herself on her self-sufficiency and efficiency. That he, of all people, had come seeking her expertise intrigued her, even if she loathed admitting it. Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction and she leaned against the bookshelf, crossing her arms. “What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Lucien?” “A missing person, someone who can't be found by mortal means,” he said, ignoring the question. In truth, it was a modest job, something he could have handled easily enough on his own. But he had missed her. Missed the thrill of working alongside her, the way they played off each other’s strengths. “I was hoping you would be willing to consult on the case.” “A missing person,” Rory repeated, contemplative. “That's a ways off from keeping tabs on the werewolve s' upcoming power plays or the latest vampire noble's shady dealings.” “The client is... a friend. I want to ensure I leave no stone unturned.” He allowed a hint of vulnerability to creep into his voice. It was a subtle shift, but one Rory would recognize. She studied him intently, her gaze flicking between his mismatched eyes as if searching for the truth. “You still haven't answered my question: How did you find me?” He shrugged, an elegant lift of his shoulders. “You can’t hide from me, ma chère. Not without my consent.” “As comforting as it is to know you’re still keeping tabs, it doesn't explain why I should agree to help you.” “Because I'm asking nicely. Something about a favor between old friends, remember?” He reached into his pocket and produced a thin leather wallet, tossing it onto the stack of books in front of her. It landed with a satisfying thud. “A token of my sincerity.” Rory picked up the wallet with a raised eyebrow and extracted several crisp notes from within. He had guessed correctly—her curiosity and financial situation meant she wasn’t going to turn him away. Not yet, anyway. “Consider it a down payment,” he said. “More to follow when we locate the missing person.” “You really know how to sweeten the deal, don't you?” She tucked the wallet under a paperweight shaped like an ankh. “Fine. I'll help. But I have some conditions.” “Enlighten me.” “First, no more surprises. You pull something like this again, you'll be dealing with my lawyer for the breach of my privacy.” He inclined his head, conceding the point. “Agreed.” “Second, I make the rules. You want my help, you play by them.” “Of course, chérie. I am at your service.” Rory gave him a skeptical look but didn't push back. “Good. Now, tell me, why do you think this person requires supernatural assistance to be found?” As Lucien began to outline the case, the faint smile of a cat who’d just devoured the cream began to tug at her lips, and with it, a glimmer of their former camaraderie. He had found what he was looking for. She was, after all, the best in the business, and he was determined to remind her of exactly that.