Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMG3GQ4BC0AQZ01P7CWE0J

The brass knocker scraped against the door of Eva’s flat like a nail on glass, the sound sharp enough to cut through the quiet of the evening. Aurora Carter stood just inside the threshold, her breath fogging the air in the sudden chill of the hallway. The scar on her wrist—small but vivid, the mark of a childhood accident—twitched as she remembered the way her father had always called it her "little dragon mark," though she’d never told him the truth about what had happened that day. She clutched the doorframe, her fingers numb despite the warmth of the flat beyond. Eva’s voice came from the other side, low and measured. *"Aurora? Are you really here?"* Aurora didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The way the door creaked open just enough to let in a sliver of golden light from the kitchen told her everything. Lucien Moreau stood there, his cane resting against the wall as if it were a crutch, though it was more like a weapon. His suit was immaculate—charcoal gray, tailored to perfection—but his face was unreadable, the usual smirk absent. His heterochromatic eyes flicked between her and the door, as if he were measuring the room, the weight of the past, the unspoken tension hanging between them like a second skin. *"You shouldn’t have come,"* she said, voice tight. *"I had to."* His voice was smooth, but there was a sharp edge to it, like the blade in the cane’s sheath. *"You were supposed to be safe. But you’re not."* Aurora exhaled through her nose, her fingers tightening around the doorknob. *"I’m not safe anywhere anymore."* Eva’s flat was a labyrinth of books and scrolls, the air thick with the scent of old paper and something faintly metallic—like old coins or the faintest trace of blood. The cat, Ptolemy, watched from the armchair with a slow blink, his tail flicking lazily. He didn’t move when Lucien stepped inside, but his ears twitched at the sound of her footsteps behind him. *"You look like hell,"* Lucien said, not looking at her. Aurora turned to face him, the weight of the past pressing down on her like a physical force. *"You look like you’ve been waiting for this."* He didn’t deny it. *"I have."* The silence stretched between them, thick enough to cut. Aurora’s scar twitched again, a reflex she couldn’t control. *"You came because you think I’m in danger."* *"I came because I can’t let you walk away."* She should have left. She knew that. But the way he stood there, the way his cane tapped against the floor when he wasn’t looking, the way his eyes—one amber, one black—burned with something she hadn’t seen in years, made her hesitate. *"Why now?"* *"Because you’re not the same person who left London."* That was the thing about Lucien Moreau. He always knew exactly what to say to make her feel like she was falling apart all over again. *"I’m not."* *"You’re still Rory."* The name was a blade. She flinched. *"I’m not Rory anymore."* *"You were Rory once. And you’re still Rory."* The words hit her like a physical blow. She turned away, her fingers digging into the doorframe. *"I don’t need you to remind me."* Lucien didn’t follow. He just stood there, the cane tapping against the floor, the way he always did when he was waiting for her to say something she didn’t want to. *"Eva said you were here."* Aurora’s throat tightened. *"She didn’t have to."* *"She did."* The door swung shut behind her, the deadbolts clicking into place with a finality that made her chest ache. She pressed her back against the wood, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The flat was too small, too crowded with memories she didn’t want to face. The cat, Ptolemy, padded over, his tail curling around her ankles as if sensing her distress. Lucien’s voice was low, almost a whisper. *"You’re shaking."* Aurora didn’t look at him. *"I don’t know what I’m doing here."* *"You’re here because you’re afraid."* She exhaled, her fingers stilling against the door. *"I’m afraid of everything."* *"Then let me help."* The offer was there, just below the surface, something she’d heard a thousand times before. But this time, it felt different. This time, it felt like the first time. *"I don’t know if I can."* Lucien stepped forward, his cane tapping against the floor in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. *"Then let’s find out."* The kitchen light flickered, casting long shadows across the walls. Aurora’s heart pounded, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She should have left. She knew that. But the way he looked at her—one eye black, one amber, burning with something she didn’t understand—made her feel like she was being seen for the first time in years. *"What do you want from me?"* she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s smile was slow, deliberate. *"The same thing I always want. Your truth."* And for the first time in a long time, Aurora Carter didn’t have an answer.