Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMEX3R3VJE5NFHG81AWQS2

Rory Carter stared at the tall, slender man on her doorstep, her heart pounding against her ribcage. Of all the people she'd expected to see, Lucien Moreau was the very last. She opened her mouth to speak but found her voice had abandoned her, leaving her gaping like a fish out of water. Lucien's mismatched eyes—one amber, one black—danced with a familiar intensity as they roamed her face. "Hello, Laila," he murmured, the French lilt in his voice stirring up a swirling maelstrom of memories and emotions within her. Laila. The name he'd called her back then, when things had been simpler, before everything had gone so terribly wrong. Rory cleared her throat, willing herself to regain her composure. "Lucien. What are you doing here?" The words came out more sharply than she'd intended, a defensive edge creeping into her tone. Lucien's brow furrowed slightly, and for a fleeting moment, Rory glimpsed a flicker of hurt in his eyes before his expression smoothed over once more. "I...need your help," he admitted, his gaze dropping to the ivory-handled cane in his hand. The very same cane she remembered—a thin blade concealed within, a mark of his dual nature as a half-demon. Rory's mind raced, trying to make sense of his sudden reappearance in her life. It had been nearly three years since their last encounter, a confrontation that had left scars far deeper than the small crescent-shaped mark on her wrist. "My help?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes. "After everything that happened, you have the audacity to show up here and ask for my help?" Lucien winced visibly at her words, and Rory felt a twinge of regret. As much as she wanted to hold onto her anger, a part of her ached to see the pain etched across his refined features. "I...I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Rory studied him for a long moment, taking in the weary slump of his shoulders and the shadows that seemed to cling to him. Once, she'd been able to read him like an open book, but now, he was a puzzle, his emotions carefully guarded. Despite her better judgment, she found her resolve beginning to crumble. With a resigned sigh, she stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. "Come in, then. But don't think this means I've forgiven you." Lucien's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded, a flicker of relief passing across his face as he stepped over the threshold. Rory closed the door behind him, the familiar sound of the deadbolts sliding into place a comforting anchor in the suddenly charged atmosphere. As Lucien moved farther into the cramped flat, his gaze landed on the tabby cat curled up on the arm of the battered sofa. "Ptolemy," he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The cat lifted its head, its yellow eyes fixing Lucien with a considering stare before it let out a soft meow of greeting. Rory watched the interaction, a bittersweet pang tugging at her heart. So much had changed, yet some things remained the same. "He still remembers you," she said quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Lucien's eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow to a crawl. The air between them crackled with unspoken emotion, a fragile dance of hurt and longing. Rory felt the familiar pull, the magnetic attraction that had always existed between them, despite the complicated history that had driven them apart. Clearing her throat, Rory gestured towards the cluttered coffee table. "What's so important that you had to come all the way here?" she asked, steeling her voice against the traitorous flutter of her heart. Lucien's expression shifted, a shadow of worry passing across his features. "There's been a...development," he said, his words chosen with a careful precision that immediately set Rory on edge. "Something that concerns both of us." Rory's brow furrowed as she regarded him, a thousand questions racing through her mind. "What kind of development?" she pressed, the knot of apprehension in her stomach tightening. Lucien sighed heavily, running a hand through his slicked-back platinum hair. "It's...complicated," he admitted, his gaze drifting away from hers. "But I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. If I didn't need your help." The sincerity in his voice caught Rory off guard, and she found herself nodding slowly, her own stubborn pride gradually giving way to a growing sense of curiosity and concern. "Alright, then," she said, gesturing towards the sofa. "Tell me what's going on." Lucien hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching her face, as if weighing the risks of confiding in her. Finally, he sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the worn cushions, his fingers tightening around the ivory handle of his cane. "It's about Eva," he said, his voice low and grave. "She's gone missing." Rory felt the blood drain from her face, her heart lurching in her chest. Eva, her closest friend, the one who had helped her escape the nightmare of her past—gone missing? "What do you mean, gone missing?" she demanded, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady. Lucien's mismatched eyes met hers, their usual intensity now tinged with a deep, unsettling worry. "I mean," he said, his words measured and precise, "that she disappeared two weeks ago, and I've been unable to locate her since." Rory's mind reeled, her thoughts racing as she tried to process the implications of Lucien's words. Eva, the fiercely independent woman who had always been a pillar of strength, vanished without a trace. And Lucien, the half-demon fixer and information broker, unable to find her. Something was very, very wrong. Steeling her nerves, Rory squared her shoulders and fixed Lucien with a determined gaze. "Then we'd better get started," she said, her voice steady and resolute. "Tell me everything you know."