Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMFSCKPRNGDY2E1R63NBW7

Aurora's fingers froze on the middle deadbolt. Through the door's peephole, Lucien Moreau stood in the dim hallway, his platinum hair catching the flickering 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 slid the final bolt free. The door creaked open, releasing a wave of curry-scented air from the restaurant below. "Bonsoir, ma chérie." His voice was exactly as she remembered – smooth as aged whiskey with that hint of Marseille still clinging to his consonants. He leaned casually on his ivory-handled cane, looking entirely too composed in his charcoal suit. "How did you find me?" Aurora managed to keep her voice steady, though her fingers curled tighter around the doorframe. His mismatched eyes – one amber, one black – crinkled slightly at the corners. "Please. You know better than to ask questions you already have answers to." She did know better. That was half the problem. "Eva's not here," Aurora said, even though he clearly wasn't looking for Eva. His gaze hadn't left her face since she'd opened the door. "I'm aware." He shifted his weight, the cane making a soft tap against the worn hallway carpet. "May I come in? The curry fumes are rather overwhelming out here." Aurora hesitated. Letting him in was dangerous – not because she feared him, but because she feared herself. The last time they'd been alone together... She pushed the memory aside and stepped back, giving him space to enter. Ptolemy, Eva's tabby, took one look at Lucien and bolted beneath the coffee table, yellow eyes gleaming in judgment. "The cat remembers me, I see." Lucien's lips quirked as he moved past her, his cologne – sandalwood and something darker, more exotic – briefly overwhelming the curry smell. He surveyed the cramped space, taking in the towers of books and scattered research papers with raised eyebrows. "Eva's organizational system remains... unique." "What do you want, Lucien?" Aurora closed the door but didn't move away from it. The flat suddenly felt too small, too intimate, with him in it. He turned to face her, his expression softening into something that made her chest ache. "You disappeared. Three months, no word. I had to hear from Silas that you'd left your flat above his bar." "I needed space." "Space," he repeated, testing the word like a fine wine he wasn't sure he appreciated. "From what happened at the Midwinter Gala, or from me?" Aurora's left wrist tingled where her crescent scar lay, a phantom reminder of that night. Of dancing under enchanted snowflakes, of his hands warm on her waist, of promises whispered in French that she'd been too afraid to believe. Of running away when it all became too real. "Both," she admitted. "You know why I had to leave." He took a step closer, and she forced herself not to retreat. "I know why you think you had to leave. There's a difference." "Is there?" Her voice cracked slightly. "You're half-demon, Lucien. You're practically royalty in Avaros. I'm just... I deliver takeaway for Yu-Fei's and hide from my ex in my best friend's flat. I don't belong in your world." "That's not—" He stopped, frustration flickering across his usually controlled features. "Do you think I care about any of that? About what you do for living, about where you come from?" "You should. Your father—" "Mon père can go to hell. Several hells, preferably." He closed the distance between them, close enough that she had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact. "I didn't come here to rehash old arguments, Aurora." The way he said her name – not Rory, never Rory, always the full syllables like he was savoring them – made her shiver. "Then why did you come?" "Because I miss you." The simple honesty in his voice undid her. "Because every time I hear someone order Chinese takeaway, I look for you. Because my contacts keep telling me about a dark-haired woman with bright blue eyes asking questions about cheap flats in Cardiff, and the thought of you running back there makes me physically ill." "Lucien..." She pressed her palms against the door behind her, needing its solidarity. "Tell me you don't feel this." His free hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "Tell me you don't miss me too, and I'll walk away. I'll never darken your door again, I swear it." Aurora closed her eyes, leaning into his touch despite herself. "I can't tell you that." "Then stop running." His breath ghosted across her lips. "Stay. Stay and fight for this – for us – instead of letting fear make your choices." She opened her eyes to find him watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. His mismatched gaze held centuries of power, of otherworldly knowledge, and yet all she saw was the man who'd spent three weeks trying to find her favorite coffee shop just so he could have it delivered to her on rainy mornings. "I'm scared," she whispered. "Good." His thumb traced her bottom lip. "That means it matters." When he kissed her, it felt like coming home to a place she'd never known she was missing. His cane clattered to the floor as his arms wrapped around her, and somewhere in the background, Ptolemy knocked over a stack of books in his hasty retreat to the bedroom. Aurora smiled against Lucien's lips, finally letting herself believe that maybe, just maybe, some risks were worth taking.