Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMPZPWPA97PH0SSBTHMH1M

The brass knocker scraped against the doorframe before it swung open, the hinges groaning like old bones. Aurora Carter stepped back, her fingers twitching toward the small knife tucked into her boot—just in case. But there was no need. The door creaked wider, and inside, the scent of aged paper and something faintly metallic hung in the air, thick with the weight of years. Lucien Moreau stood there, his cane resting against the doorframe, his tailored suit draped over his shoulders like a second skin. His hair was slicked back just so, but his eyes—one amber, one black—burned with a familiarity that made Aurora’s pulse jump. She exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the air between them. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. Lucien smirked, but it was laced with something darker. “I always do what I think is necessary.” She stepped aside, the flat coming into focus—bookshelves sagging under the weight of tomes, scrolls, and half-finished sketches, the faint hum of a laptop in the corner. Ptolemy, her tabby cat, blinked up at them from his perch on the windowsill, tail flicking with interest. “You’re not supposed to be here,” Aurora repeated, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You know that.” Lucien didn’t answer right away. He just watched her, as if waiting for her to break. She crossed her arms, the scar on her wrist—small but sharp—standing out against the pale skin. “Why?” His expression didn’t change, but the air between them crackled. “Because you’re the only one who can help me.” Aurora’s breath hitched. “Help you?” “With what’s coming,” he said, voice low. “The things that are hunting me.” The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken. Aurora’s fingers curled into fists. “You don’t have to tell me.” “Do I?” Lucien stepped closer, the cane tapping against the floor. “Or do I get to decide who gets to know?” She should have walked away. She should have locked the door and called the police. But the way he looked at her—like he was seeing her for the first time—made her stomach twist. “What are you talking about?” Lucien exhaled, the scent of his cologne—something sharp and woodsy—filling her nostrils. “The Avaros. They’re coming. And they’re not just after me.” Aurora’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?” “They want you,” Lucien said, voice rough. “They want what you have.” The words struck like a blade. She should have known. Should have seen it coming. But she hadn’t. And now, here she was, standing in her own flat, staring at a man who had once been her friend, her ally, and now felt like a stranger. “You’re lying,” she said, though her voice wavered. Lucien didn’t deny it. “I’m not. And if you don’t help me, they’ll find you first.” Aurora’s hands trembled. “What do you want from me?” “Protection,” he said simply. “And a way out.” She should have run. But the way his eyes darkened, the way his lips parted just a fraction—it was like the past was pressing against the surface of her skin, raw and painful. “What’s the price?” Lucien’s smile was grim. “You.” Her breath caught. “What?” “You,” he repeated, voice dropping to a growl. “I want you.” Aurora’s mind raced. She should have known. Should have known that the moment he walked through that door, she’d feel it—the pull, the ache, the way her body remembered him even after all this time. But she had pushed him away. She had burned the bridges. “You’re not serious,” she whispered. Lucien’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. “I’m serious. And if you don’t decide soon, they’ll take you anyway.” Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest. She should have left. She should have called the police. But the way he looked at her, like he was already half inside her, made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t ignore. “What do you want?” she asked again, voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor, the sound sharp and deliberate. “You.” Aurora’s breath came fast. “You’re asking me to—” “Yes,” he said, voice rough. “I’m asking you to choose.” The flat felt smaller than ever. The books, the scrolls, the half-finished sketches—it all seemed to press in on her, like the walls were closing in. She should have walked away. She should have locked the door and called the police. But Lucien was standing there, his eyes dark with something she didn’t understand, and she couldn’t look away. “What do you want from me?” she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s smile was slow, knowing. “You.” Aurora’s fingers curled into fists. “You’re not serious.” Lucien’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. “I’m serious. And if you don’t decide soon, they’ll take you anyway.” She should have run. She should have called the police. But the way he looked at her, like he was already half inside her, made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t ignore. “What do you want?” she asked again, voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor, the sound sharp and deliberate. “You.” Aurora’s breath came fast. “You’re asking me to—” “Yes,” he said, voice rough. “I’m asking you to choose.” The flat felt smaller than ever. The books, the scrolls, the half-finished sketches—it all seemed to press in on her, like the walls were closing in. She should have walked away. She should have locked the door and called the police. But Lucien was standing there, his eyes dark with something she didn’t understand, and she couldn’t look away. Aurora’s eyes burned, her throat tight. She should have known. She should have known that the moment he walked through that door, she’d feel it—the pull, the ache, the way her body remembered him even after all this time. But she had pushed him away. She had burned the bridges. “I don’t know what you want from me,” she said, her voice trembling. Lucien’s smile was slow, knowing. “I want you.” Aurora’s heart hammered in her chest. She should have left. She should have called the police. But the way he looked at her, like he was already half inside her, made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t ignore. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien stepped closer, the cane tapping against the floor. “You.” Aurora’s breath hitched. “You’re not serious.” Lucien’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. “I’m serious. And if you don’t decide soon, they’ll take you anyway.” She should have run. She should have locked the door and called the police. But the way he looked at her, like he was already half inside her, made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t ignore. “What’s the price?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s smile was grim. “You.” Aurora’s fingers curled into fists. “You’re not serious.” Lucien’s eyes darkened, the amber and black swirling together like a storm. “I’m not asking for anything you can’t give.” She should have fled. She should have screamed. But the air between them was thick, charged with something she couldn’t name. The past pressed against her, raw and painful, and she couldn’t look away. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor, the sound sharp and final. “You.” Aurora’s breath came in shallow gasps. The flat felt like it was closing in around her, the books and scrolls and half-finished sketches pressing in like walls. She should have walked away. She should have locked the door and called the police. But Lucien was standing there, his eyes dark with something she didn’t understand, and she couldn’t look away. “You’re asking me to—” “Yes,” he said, voice rough. “I’m asking you to choose.” Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest, a wild, desperate rhythm. She should have run. She should have screamed. But the way he looked at her, like he was already half inside her, made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t ignore. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s smile was slow, knowing. “You.” Aurora’s fingers trembled. “I don’t know what you want from me.” Lucien’s gaze locked onto hers, unyielding. “I want you.” And for the first time in years, Aurora Carter didn’t know what to do with that.