Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMMARMTAAXDB398BZ2AJS8

The door creaked open before Aurora had a chance to steady her breath. The air inside was thick with the scent of old paper and something faintly metallic—like the edge of a blade she’d once left behind. The flat was dim, the only light coming from the single bulb over the desk, casting long shadows across the shelves of books and scrolls. She didn’t move, just stood there, her fingers curling around the doorknob, her pulse hammering against her wrist beneath the crescent scar. Then the door swung inward. Lucien stood there, his tailored charcoal suit crisp against the damp London air, his cane resting against the wall like an extension of himself. His heterochromatic eyes locked onto hers, one amber, one black, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that gaze. He exhaled slowly, as if he’d been holding his breath for years. “Aurora,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like velvet over steel. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” She didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. Didn’t pretend she wasn’t here. “Neither did I,” she admitted, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. The flat felt suddenly too small, the air too tight, as if the walls were closing in around them both. Lucien’s lips twisted into something that might have been a smile if it hadn’t been so sharp. “You shouldn’t have come.” Aurora turned her head just enough to see the scar on his knuckles—the one she’d given him years ago when they’d fought over something she couldn’t remember. She swallowed hard. “I didn’t come for that.” He stepped closer, the cane tapping against the floor, and she couldn’t help but watch the way the shadows played across his face. “Then why?” She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for the doorknob again, her fingers trembling just enough that he might notice. “I needed to see you.” Lucien’s expression darkened. “You’ve seen me before.” “And I’ll see you again,” she said, her voice steady despite the way her throat felt raw. “But not like this.” He scoffed, but there was no humor in it. “Like what?” She turned, walking toward the desk where the cat, Ptolemy, blinked up at them with one golden eye. “Like the way I left you.” Lucien’s jaw tightened. “You left me because you were afraid.” “And you let me,” she shot back, her voice rising just a little. “You let me walk away.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers before she could pull away. The contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and electric. “I didn’t let you.” Aurora pulled back, her breath catching. “You didn’t have to.” “No,” he said, his voice rough. “I didn’t.” The flat was silent except for the hum of the old refrigerator in the corner, the faint rustle of pages from the books on the shelf. Aurora sat on the edge of the bed, her back against the headboard, and Lucien sank onto the edge of the desk, his cane tapping against the wood. “Why did you come back?” she asked, her fingers tracing the edge of a leather-bound journal. Lucien’s gaze was intense, searching. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Aurora’s stomach twisted. “You couldn’t stop thinking about me?” “Not just that,” he said, his voice low. “The way you looked at me. The way you *were* when you were angry. The way you were when you were afraid. It’s been years, Aurora. And I still remember.” She exhaled sharply, her chest tight. “And you still let me go.” “No,” he said, his voice firm. “I didn’t.” She looked away, her fingers stilling. “You didn’t have to.” Lucien reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over the scar on her wrist. She didn’t pull away this time. “I wanted to.” Aurora’s breath hitched. “You wanted to what?” “To fix it,” he said, his voice rough. “To make it right.” She turned to face him, her eyes burning with something she couldn’t name. “You always did.” Lucien’s gaze darkened. “I always did.” The silence between them was thick, charged with unspoken words. Then, slowly, Aurora reached up and touched his face, her fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “You’re here because you care,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s lips parted, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “I care about you.” Aurora’s heart pounded against her ribs. “Then why did you let me leave?” Lucien’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer. “Because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.” Aurora’s breath caught. “What would happen?” He kissed her then, slow and deep, his hands cradling her face as if he could memorize every inch of her. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, his voice rough. “I was afraid of losing you.” Aurora’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “And now?” Lucien’s lips brushed against her forehead. “Now I’m afraid of not having you.” The flat felt like a cage, but it was the only one they had left. And for the first time in years, Aurora Carter didn’t want to escape.