Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMDG2KJMGSJMKRBTHH67P9

Aurora's hand froze on the third deadbolt. Through the door's peephole, Lucien Moreau stood in the dim hallway, his platinum hair catching the fluorescent light. Of course he'd track her to Eva's flat. She should have known better than to think she could hide from London's most notorious information broker. Her heart thundered against her ribs as she undid the locks, each click echoing in the quiet flat. Ptolemy wound between her ankles, purring, oblivious to her tension. When she opened the door, the familiar scent of sandalwood and cigarettes washed over her. "Bonsoir, ma chérie." Lucien's mismatched eyes studied her face, one amber, one black, both intent. He leaned casually on his ivory-handled cane, but Aurora knew better – nothing about Lucien was ever casual. "It's past midnight," she said, proud of how steady her voice remained. "What are you doing here?" "Aren't you going to invite me in?" His French accent had thickened, the way it did when he was either angry or trying to charm someone. Right now, she couldn't tell which. Aurora crossed her arms. "The last time I saw you, you said, and I quote, 'It would be best if we didn't cross paths again.'" "Circumstances change." He straightened, and even without the advantage of his cane's added height, he towered over her. "May I come in? What I have to discuss shouldn't be overheard in hallways." The smart thing would be to shut the door in his face. But smart choices had never been her strong suit where Lucien was concerned. She stepped aside, letting him brush past her into Eva's cramped flat. His tailored charcoal suit looked absurdly out of place among the teetering stacks of books and scattered research notes. Ptolemy immediately abandoned Aurora to rub against Lucien's legs, the traitor. "I see your friend's cat still hasn't learned to distinguish friend from foe," Lucien said, reaching down to scratch behind Ptolemy's ears. "Or maybe he's a better judge of character than I am." Aurora shut the door but didn't redo the locks. She wanted him to know this wasn't an invitation to stay. "What do you want, Lucien?" He straightened, turning to face her. In the warm lamplight, she could see the shadows under his eyes, the slight dishevelment of his usually immaculate hair. "You're in danger." "I'm always in danger. That's practically my default state these days." "This is different." He took a step toward her, and she fought the urge to back away. "Evan knows where you are." The name hit her like a punch to the gut. Her left wrist, where the crescent scar marked her skin, began to ache with phantom pain. "That's impossible. I was careful." "He hired someone. Someone good." Lucien's grip tightened on his cane. "But I'm better." Aurora turned away, needing to put space between them. The curry house below had closed hours ago, but the lingering scent of spices still permeated the flat. It usually comforted her. Tonight, it made her feel nauseated. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked. "Why do you care?" "You know why." She spun back to face him. "No, I don't. You made it very clear three months ago that whatever was between us was a liability. That I was a liability." "I was trying to protect you." "By pushing me away? That worked out brilliantly, didn't it?" Lucien crossed the distance between them in two long strides. This time, she did back up, until her spine hit Eva's overcrowded bookshelf. A scroll tumbled to the floor. "I thought," he said, his voice low and intense, "that if I removed myself from your life, the target on your back would shrink. Instead, you've managed to find even more trouble without my help." "I didn't find trouble," Aurora snapped. "Trouble found me. It always does. And I don't need you swooping in to save me. I've managed just fine on my own." His laugh was bitter. "Is that what you call living in your friend's flat, working delivery jobs, and looking over your shoulder? Managing?" "At least I'm honest about who and what I am." She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze directly. "I don't hide behind designer suits and careful masks, pretending I'm something I'm not." Something flickered in his heterochromatic eyes – pain, maybe, or anger. His free hand came up to brace against the bookshelf beside her head, caging her in. "You think I'm pretending? That night, before everything went wrong, when I told you how I felt – do you think that was a lie?" Aurora's breath caught in her throat. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the pulse beating in his throat. "I think you're very good at telling people what they want to hear." "Then you don't know me at all." His voice had dropped to a whisper. "Which is strange, because you're the only person who ever has." Before she could respond, he pushed away from the bookshelf and turned his back to her. The distance felt like a physical ache. "Pack a bag," he said, his voice returning to its usual controlled timbre. "You can't stay here. I have a safe house-" "I'm not going anywhere with you." He turned back, and for a moment, his careful mask slipped. She saw the fear there, the desperation. "Aurora, please. Just once, let someone help you. Let me help you." She looked at him – really looked at him. The man who had walked away to protect her, who had come back to warn her, who still said her name like a prayer even after everything that had happened between them. Her fingers brushed unconsciously against the scar on her wrist. "Okay," she said softly. "But this time, you don't get to make decisions for me. We do this together, or not at all." The relief that flooded his face made him look younger, more vulnerable. "Together," he agreed, extending his hand to her. After a moment's hesitation, she took it.