Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMGYRG3781HB33HD833CR8

The sharp rap of knuckles against wood shattered the silence. Aurora froze, hand hovering over Ptolemy's soft fur. The tabby cat blinked up at her from his perch on the cluttered coffee table, unperturbed by the sudden disturbance. With a shaky exhale, Rory stood, disentangling herself from the worn afghan draped across her lap. Three deadbolts and a chain lock later, she eased the door open, pulse thrumming in her ears. The words died on her lips when she met the heterochromatic gaze of the man leaning against the doorjamb. One amber, one black, both pinning her with striking intensity. "You look well, chérie." His voice was smoke and silk, tinged with a hint of his native French. Lucien Moreau, dashboard light and creatable, in the flesh on her doorstep. Rory's grip tightened on the doorknob, bright blue eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here?" "Is that any way to greet an old friend?" He arched an immaculately shaped brow, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. "We aren't friends." The flat words hung between them, heavy with the weight of things left unsaid. Ptolemy twined around her ankles, his tail brushing against her calf as if in silent comfort. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." Lucien quoted with a wry twist of his lips, humor flirting with the edges of his words. When she scoffed and moved to shut the door, he wedged his ivory-handled cane between the frame and the door. "Wait." "For what? Another pretty lie?" Rory heard the bitter edge to her voice, damning and cutting as the blade concealed within his ever-present cane. "Don't worry, they don't work anymore." "I never lied to you." His voice was soft, contradicted by the hard glint in his eyes. She bit back a snort. "You omitted. Conveniently forgot to mention. Does it matter? It's the same thing." "Perhaps I simply didn't want to lose you." She met his gaze steadily, refusing to flinch beneath the weight of his stare. Strands of slicked-back platinum blond hair caught the dying light, glinting like a halo against the dim backdrop of the cramped hallway. "Would it have made a difference if you knew?" "I don't know," Rory admitted finally, shoulders slumping as the fight bled out of her. "But it wasn't your choice to make." "Would you have me any other way?" He spread his hands wide, the tailored lines of his charcoal suit pulling taut across his broad shoulders. "Non. I think not." Her laugh cracked between them like brittle glass. "You're an arrogant bastard." "And you, mon coeur, are exquisite when you're angry." He smirked, eyes alight with amusement. "Amongst other things." Heat rose in her cheeks, unbidden and unwelcome. She shifted her weight, acutely aware of the faded t-shirt and leggings she wore, the ratty bun atop her head. "What do you want, Lucien?" "You, Aurora Carter. As I have always wanted you." He said it simply, as though it was written in the stars, inevitable as sunrise cresting the London rooftops. "But I will settle for your help." "Help with what?" Suspicion laced her words, a knee-jerk reaction born of hard lessons and scarred trust. The small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist twinged, a ghostly reminder of childhood wounds and a more innocent time. "Ah-ah, chérie. Not here." He glanced over his shoulder, as though expecting to find someone lurking in the shadows. "May I come in?" She hesitated, hating herself for the wariness that tightened her muscles and quickened her breath. Hatred that had nothing to do with Lucien and everything to do with a brown-eyed boy from Cardiff. With a nod, she stepped aside, allowing him entrance into the cluttered haven of her flat. Books and scrolls scattered across every available surface, as though a hurricane had unleashed its fury within the cramped space. Ptolemy meowed plaintively, winding between Lucien's legs as he made his way further inside. "You need a bigger library, mon coeur." "You're one to talk." She eyed the stacks of tomes that spilled across the chaise lounge, the first editions sandwiched between thick manila folders and yellowed scrolls. "All those languages and nowhere to go." "Au contraire. I go wherever the wind takes me." He sank onto the worn couch,ane held loosely between his knees. "And the work I find there." "You didn't answer my question." Rory perched on the arm of the threadbare recliner, wariness still etched in the line of her shoulders. "There's a small matter of a missing artifact. One I believe you can help me recover." He leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs. "And in exchange, I will grant you a boon." "What could you possibly offer me?" Skepticism dripped from her words, a familiar melody. The same question she'd asked once before, beneath the flickering neon of a cramped Chinatown alleyway. His lips quirked, as though he too remembered. "Anything you ask, Aurora. Even if it's walking out that door and never looking back." "Anything?" "Oui. Anything. Do we have a deal?" He extended his hand, palm up, eyes glinting with challenge. She shouldn't. Hell, she didn't even know what she was agreeing to. But the prospect of freedom, of cutting ties with the man who'd haunted her thoughts since that fateful night on the rooftops of the city she now called home, was too tempting to resist. With a sharp nod, she reached out, sliding her palm against his. "Deal." His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong, as the faintest whisper of a smile graced his lips. "Très bien, chérie. Let the games begin."