Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMFG0HWWS2MQAVE10F88VC

Aurora froze, her hand still on the doorknob, a half-formed greeting dying on her lips. The evening had already been strange enough—Eva suddenly texting that she'd be out late, followed by an unexpected knock. But of all the people she might have expected on the other side of Eva's triple-deadbolted door, Lucien Moreau stood dead last. "Bonsoir, Rory." His voice was exactly as she remembered: smooth as aged whiskey with that hint of Marseille in his English. He looked the same too—devastatingly so. The charcoal suit fit him with the precision of a second skin. His platinum hair was slicked back from his forehead, revealing the striking asymmetry of his eyes: one amber, one black. In his right hand, he leaned lightly on his ivory-handled cane. "You're not Eva." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. "An astute observation." "What are you doing here?" She didn't move from the doorway. "I might ask you the same question." His gaze swept over her—Golden Empress delivery uniform still on, hair messily pinned up after her shift. "Though I suspect we're both here for Eva. May I come in? The hallway isn't ideal for conversation." Every instinct screamed to shut the door, to slam it in his perfectly proportioned face. Instead, she stepped back, allowing him to enter. Six months hadn't been nearly long enough to forget the subtle scent that followed him—sandalwood and something unmistakably other. "Eva's not here," she said, closing the door behind him and reflexively checking the deadbolts. "So I gathered." Lucien moved into the cramped living space with the ease of someone familiar with it, navigating around stacks of books and scrolls without disturbing a single page. Ptolemy emerged from beneath an armchair, stretching languidly before padding toward Lucien. The tabby cat rubbed against his trouser leg, leaving orange hair on the immaculate charcoal fabric. "Traitor," Aurora muttered under her breath. Lucien bent slightly, running his fingers behind the cat's ears. "At least someone's happy to see me." The flat suddenly felt impossibly small. Books and papers covered every surface, and the air smelled of the curry house below, mixed with Eva's incense and Ptolemy's cat food. And now Lucien, taking up space not just physically but in all the ways she'd worked to forget. "Why are you looking for Eva?" she asked, crossing her arms. Lucien straightened, his heterochromatic gaze finding hers. "Professional matter. She requested information about certain artifacts recently surfacing in Soho." He paused. "I didn't know you were back in London." "I've been back six months." She moved toward the tiny kitchenette, needing distance. "Tea?" "Please." Her hands trembled slightly as she filled the kettle. Six months of carefully rebuilding her life, working deliveries for Yu-Fei, staying in Silas's spare flat above the bar, and now this—Lucien materializing as though conjured from her most complicated dreams. "I thought you'd returned to Cardiff," he said, his voice closer now. Aurora turned to find him leaning against the doorframe of the kitchenette, his cane tapping lightly against the floor. "That was the plan." She reached for mugs, the familiar motion steadying her. "Plans change." "They do." Something in his tone made her look up. Those mismatched eyes held hers, and for a moment, she was back in his office above the jazz club in Soho, breathless and burning. The kettle clicked off. She poured water over tea bags, buying seconds to compose herself. "You're still delivering for the Golden Empress," he observed. "And you're still..." She gestured vaguely at his immaculate self. "Whatever it is you do." His mouth quirked. "Information broker is the preferred term." "Half-demon fixer is more accurate." The words slipped out with more bite than she'd intended. "I've never hidden what I am from you, Aurora." His use of her full name sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. She pushed a mug toward him, the tea steeping to a deep amber. "No, you were perfectly transparent about everything except what mattered." The silence between them tightened, six months of unspoken words pressing against the walls of the tiny flat. Lucien took the mug, his fingers brushing hers. "You left without saying goodbye." "You gave me reason to." She retreated to the cluttered living room, perching on the arm of the sofa. Ptolemy jumped up beside her, sensing her distress. Lucien followed, setting his cane against the wall before taking a careful seat in the armchair opposite. Books towered on either side of him like sentinels. "I can't defend myself if I don't know the charges," he said quietly. Aurora laughed, a short, bitter sound. "Don't play innocent, Luc. It doesn't suit you." "Is this about Istanbul?" His expression remained unreadable. "Or what came after?" Her hand went unconsciously to her left wrist, fingers tracing the crescent-shaped scar there. "It's about learning that while I was putting my life on the line for your 'information,' you were feeding the same details to Evan." His face darkened. "I didn't know he was your ex." "You know everything about everyone." She stared into her tea. "That's your whole business model." "Even I have blind spots, Rory." There was a rawness to his voice she hadn't heard before. "Especially where you're concerned." The admission hung in the air between them. Outside, rain began to patter against the windows, and somewhere down in the curry house, a pan clattered. "He nearly killed me," she said finally. "In that warehouse by the Bosporus. The information you gave him led him right to me." Lucien set his mug down with deliberate care. "I didn't sell information to Evan directly. It went through three intermediaries. When I discovered where it had ended up—" He stopped. "By then you were gone." "Back to Cardiff. Supposedly." She stroked Ptolemy's fur, drawing comfort from the cat's rumbling purr. "Except Cardiff meant facing my parents, explaining why I'd dropped out of law school, dealing with their disappointment. So I came back to London instead. Just... not to you." Lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating his face—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the tension in his jaw. "I looked for you," he said. "For weeks." "Not very effectively, for someone with your resources." "I respected what I thought was your choice to disappear." His gaze dropped to her wrist, to the scar visible beneath the sleeve of her uniform. "I didn't know you were hurt." The rain intensified, drumming against the windows. Aurora felt suddenly exhausted, the weight of their shared history pressing down on her shoulders. "What do you want from me, Lucien? It's been six months." "I want—" He hesitated, something unprecedented for him. "I want to apologize. Properly. What happened in Istanbul was unforgivable, and my role in it inexcusable." She studied him, looking for the calculation, the angle. There was always an angle with Lucien. But his mismatched eyes held only a weariness that matched her own. "Eva won't be back tonight," she said finally. "She texted earlier. Something about tracking down a lead in Camden." Lucien nodded. "I see." "You could leave your information with me." She didn't know why she was offering, except that despite everything, the thought of him walking back out the door made something twist painfully in her chest. "It's not written down." A hint of his usual smile returned. "Sensitive material." Of course. Nothing was ever simple with him. "Then I guess you'll have to come back tomorrow." He tilted his head slightly. "Or we could discuss it over dinner." The suggestion hung in the air, fraught with possibility. "Dinner," she repeated. "There's a new place on Portobello Road. The chef owes me a favor." He said it casually, but his fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on his knee. Six months ago, she would have laughed in his face. Six months of rebuilding, of caution, of careful isolation except for Eva and Yu-Fei and the odd regular at Silas's bar. "This isn't forgiveness," she said finally. "This is... information exchange." "Of course." His expression remained carefully neutral, but something lightened in his eyes. "I need to change." She gestured at her Golden Empress uniform. "And I'm not riding on the back of that ridiculous motorcycle of yours." "I came by car tonight." The smile reached his eyes now. "The weather forecast suggested rain." Aurora stood, conscious of his gaze following her. "One hour. You can wait downstairs if you want." Lucien rose in one fluid motion, reaching for his cane. "I'll wait in the car. Black Jaguar, across the street." Of course it was. She walked him to the door, maintaining a careful distance. As she unlocked the deadbolts, his hand came up, hesitated, then gently turned her wrist, exposing the crescent-shaped scar. His thumb brushed over it with unbearable tenderness. "I am sorry, Rory." His voice was barely audible above the rain. "For everything." She looked up at him, at the face that had haunted her dreams for six months. "Prove it," she whispered. His eyes held hers, amber and black, otherworldly and all too human. "I intend to," he said, and stepped into the hallway, leaving her standing in the doorway, heart racing as though she'd just opened a door to something far more dangerous than the past.