Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMD83MPCNSR6CS3JMEERM2

Aurora's hand froze on the doorknob as she stared through the peephole. The familiar silhouette on the other side of the door made her stomach clench. Lucien stood in the dim hallway, his platinum hair catching the weak overhead light, one hand resting on his ever-present ivory cane. She considered pretending she wasn't home, but he'd likely heard her footsteps through the thin walls. Besides, if he'd tracked her to Eva's flat, he probably already knew she was inside. With a deep breath, she undid all three deadbolts and opened the door. "Bonsoir, chérie." His voice was exactly as she remembered – smooth as aged cognac, with that slight Marseille accent that had once made her knees weak. Still did, if she was honest with herself. "What are you doing here, Lucien?" She kept her tone flat, professional, though her heart hammered against her ribs. His mismatched eyes studied her face, and she fought the urge to smooth her hair, conscious of how disheveled she must look after her delivery shift at the Golden Empress. "May I come in? This isn't a conversation for hallways." Aurora glanced behind him, checking for threats – a habit she'd picked up during their time together. The hallway was empty except for the curry house's persistent aroma. After a moment's hesitation, she stepped aside. Lucien entered with his characteristic grace, the tap of his cane marking each careful step. He looked out of place in Eva's cramped flat, his perfectly tailored charcoal suit a stark contrast to the organized chaos of books and scrolls covering every surface. Ptolemy, Eva's tabby, arched his back and hissed from his perch atop a stack of ancient texts. "You're not welcome here," Aurora said, closing the door but leaving it unchained. "Eva would have a fit if she knew you were in her flat." "Eva's in Prague, tracking down a grimoire. She won't be back for another three days." He turned to face her, and the amber eye seemed to glow in the flat's dim lighting. "You've been avoiding me, Aurora." "Can you blame me?" She crossed her arms, careful to keep the crescent scar on her left wrist hidden. He'd always had a way of fixating on it, tracing it with his thumb when they'd lay together in quieter moments. "The last time we saw each other, you were knee-deep in demon politics and about to start a war." "A war I prevented, if you recall." "By making deals that could have gotten you killed." The words came out sharper than she intended, heavy with remembered fear. "By keeping me in the dark until it was almost too late." Lucien's grip tightened on his cane. "I was protecting you." "I never asked for your protection." She moved deeper into the flat, needing distance between them. "I asked for your trust." "Trust?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Like you trusted me with the truth about Evan? About why you really left Cardiff?" Aurora's breath caught. She turned to face him, her back pressed against Eva's cluttered desk. "That's different." "Is it?" He closed the distance between them, each tap of his cane like a heartbeat in the quiet flat. "You lecture me about trust while keeping your own secrets. Your ex-boyfriend's name isn't even Evan, is it? It's Marcus." She felt the color drain from her face. "How did you—" "I'm an information broker, chérie. Did you think I wouldn't look into the man who hurt you? The real reason you abandoned your law degree and fled to London?" His voice softened. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Because it wasn't your problem to solve." Her voice shook. "Because I knew exactly what you'd do if you found out, and I couldn't have that on my conscience." "Ah." He was close enough now that she could smell his cologne, something expensive and French that made her think of late nights and tangled sheets. "You thought I would kill him." "Wouldn't you have?" Lucien didn't answer, but his silence was confirmation enough. He reached out, his fingers brushing her wrist where the scar curved like a pale smile. "You don't have to carry everything alone, Aurora. That was always your problem – you'd rather run than let anyone help you bear the weight." "Says the man who tried to face down half the demon realm of Avaros by himself." Despite her words, she didn't pull away from his touch. "Perhaps we're more alike than we care to admit." His thumb traced the familiar path along her scar, and Aurora felt the last of her defenses crumbling. "I can't do this again," she whispered, but she was already leaning into him, drawn by the gravity that had always existed between them. "I can't watch you risk everything for your schemes and games." "No games this time." He lifted his free hand to cup her cheek. "I'm here because after six months of watching you avoid me across London, I've realized something rather important." "What's that?" "That I'm tired of pretending I can live without you." His eyes – amber and black – held hers. "That every deal, every scheme, every victory feels hollow if I can't share it with you." Aurora's heart thundered in her chest. She should push him away, should remember all the reasons they'd fallen apart. Instead, she found herself rising on her toes, her lips meeting his in a kiss that felt like coming home and stepping off a cliff all at once. Ptolemy meowed in protest and knocked over a stack of books, but neither of them noticed. Some things, Aurora realized, were worth the risk of falling.