Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMEAEFXZESP88B5NXBQBCJ

The door to Eva’s flat creaked open before Aurora could even reach for the deadbolt, the third one sticking stubbornly in its frame. The hinges groaned like an old man’s knees, and the scent of spiced curry and something smoky—old books, maybe—filled the air before she could step inside. She turned, half-expecting to see Eva’s familiar face framed in the doorway, but the silhouette was taller, broader, the way Lucien’s shoulders always filled the frame when he stood too close. “You’re early,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. Lucien didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The way he stood there, cane tapping once against the wooden floor, his platinum blond hair catching the dim light from the streetlamp outside, was answer enough. The amber eye on his left side gleamed with something that wasn’t quite amusement, not quite irritation—just the way it had the night he’d walked into her life like he owned it. Aurora exhaled through her nose, fingers tightening around the handle of her messenger bag. “You’re not supposed to be here.” “Neither are you.” His voice was smooth, the accent thick as honey. “But here we are.” She stepped back, letting the door swing shut behind her. The lock clicked into place, but the weight of his presence pressed against her like a living thing. “You know Eva’s not home.” “No,” he said, stepping inside as if he’d done this a hundred times before, “but you are.” The flat was exactly as she’d left it—chaos. Stacks of books teetered on the coffee table, yellowed scrolls spilled from a leather-bound tome, and Ptolemy the cat perched on the windowsill, tail flicking like a metronome counting down to her inevitable doom. The tabby’s green eyes narrowed at Lucien’s approach, but he didn’t so much as glance at him. His gaze locked onto Aurora’s face, and for a heartbeat, she thought he might reach out, might trace the line of her jaw like he used to. But then he turned, cane tapping again, and headed straight for the kitchen. Aurora followed, her pulse hammering in her throat. “You’re not staying.” “Depends on what you’re offering.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not offering anything.” “Then I’ll take it as a yes.” The kettle whistled in the corner, and Lucien didn’t even look at it. He just stood there, tall and unyielding, his tailored suit stretching over his shoulders like it was made for him alone. “You left without a word.” “Because you *left* without a word.” “And now you’re back,” he said, as if that explained everything. Aurora’s fingers twitched. “I didn’t ask for this.” “No.” He turned, finally, and the amber eye caught the light just right, making his face look like it was carved from something darker than stone. “But you’re here.” She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him she wasn’t the same person who’d walked out of his life that night, who’d let herself get tangled up in his games. But the words died in her throat because she knew, deep down, that she was. The same reckless, stubborn, stubbornly hopeful girl who’d thought she could handle him. Lucien moved then, slow and deliberate, like he was giving her time to run. But she didn’t. She just stood there, watching as he closed the distance between them, his cane tapping against the floorboards until he stood so close she could feel the heat of him, the way his cologne—something spicy and dark—lingered in the air between them. “You always were a terrible liar,” he murmured. Aurora swallowed. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.” His lips quirked, just for a second, before he leaned in, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his amber eye, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. “I never could.” She should have stepped back. Should have told him to leave, to go before she did something stupid. But all she could do was stand there, frozen, as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a second too long. “You look different,” he said, voice rough. Aurora touched her face, half-expecting to find scars or something—proof that time had changed her. But she was still the same. Still the same girl with the bright blue eyes and the sharp tongue and the way her heart raced when he was near. “You do too,” she managed. Lucien’s gaze dropped to her lips, then back up to her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about you.” The words sent a shiver down her spine. She knew what he meant. Knew the way his mind worked, the way he saw things in shades of gray while everyone else saw black and white. Knew the way he’d looked at her that night, the way he’d made her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. “You shouldn’t have,” she said, but her voice was softer than she intended. He smiled, slow and knowing. “I should have.” Aurora’s breath hitched. She could feel the pull of him, the way he drew her in like a current, irresistible and dangerous. She should have walked away. Should have told him to leave before she let herself forget how dangerous he was. But then he reached out, his fingers brushing against her wrist, and she forgot everything else. The scar on her left wrist—small, crescent-shaped, from the accident when she was a kid—was nothing compared to the way her heart raced under his touch. He traced the line of it with his thumb, his gaze never leaving hers. “You always were reckless,” he murmured. Aurora’s pulse jumped. “And you were always an idiot.” Lucien’s smile turned sharp. “I still am.” She should have laughed. Should have told him to stop before she did something she’d regret. But all she could do was look at him, at the way his eyes flickered between amber and black, at the way his voice dropped low, like he was telling her a secret. “You’re still here,” he said. Aurora’s throat tightened. “So are you.” He didn’t answer. He just leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin, close enough that she could see the way his lips parted, like he was about to kiss her. And then he did. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was Lucien—demanding and sure and impossible to resist. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her against him, and she melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with a hunger that surprised her. The world narrowed to the taste of him, the way his body fit against hers like they were made to be this close. She could feel the heat of him, the way his heart raced against her chest, the way his fingers dug into her hip as if he was afraid she’d disappear. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged. “You always were a terrible liar.” Aurora laughed, breathless. “And you’re still an idiot.” He grinned, and for a second, she forgot about everything else—the past, the hurt, the way they’d torn each other apart. She forgot about everything except the way he made her feel, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Lucien stepped back, his hand still on her waist. “You should go.” Aurora’s breath caught. “What?” “You heard me.” His voice was rough, like he was fighting something. “You should go before I do something we’ll both regret.” Aurora wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him she didn’t care, that she didn’t care if he was an idiot, if he was dangerous, if he made her feel things she didn’t understand. But she knew better. She knew the way he could hurt her, the way he could make her feel like she was on the edge of something she couldn’t control. She took a step back, her fingers tightening around her messenger bag. “I’ll see myself out.” Lucien didn’t move. He just stood there, watching her, his gaze dark and unreadable. “Aurora.” She turned, her heart pounding in her chest. “What?” “Don’t do this.” She wanted to ask him what he meant. Wanted to tell him she didn’t know what he was talking about. But all she could do was look at him, at the way his eyes flickered between amber and black, at the way his voice dropped low, like he was warning her. “Don’t what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t let yourself forget how dangerous I am.” Aurora’s breath hitched. She knew what he meant. Knew the way he could hurt her, the way he could make her feel things she didn’t understand. Knew the way she could let herself get lost in him, in the way he made her feel alive. She turned, her fingers tightening around the doorknob. “I won’t.” Lucien didn’t answer. He just stood there, watching her, his gaze dark and unreadable. She could feel the weight of him, the way he filled the room, the way he made her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. She opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air. The streetlamp flickered, casting long shadows across the pavement, and for a second, she thought she could still feel his touch, still hear the way his voice had dropped low, like he was warning her. She closed the door behind her, her heart pounding in her chest. She could still feel the heat of him, the way his body had fit against hers, the way he made her feel alive. She walked down the street, her steps quick and sure, her mind racing with everything that had happened, everything that could have happened. She could still feel the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d made her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to see the way he stood there, watching her, his gaze dark and unreadable. She just walked, her fingers tightening around her messenger bag, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know what was going to happen next. She didn’t know if she could handle the way he made her feel, the way he could hurt her. But she knew one thing—she wasn’t going to let herself forget how dangerous he was. She wasn’t going to let herself forget how alive he made her feel.