Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMSPWGXBF8A5WDKRYYKM98

The door swung open before Rory could knock, as if Eva had been waiting just on the other side. The scent of turmeric and cumin curled out from the curry house below, thick and warm, but the air between them was anything but. Eva stood there in an oversized jumper, her dark curls piled messily atop her head, a smudge of ink on her cheek. Ptolemy wound between her ankles, tail flicking like a metronome set to agitation. "You’re late," Eva said, stepping back to let her in. The flat was exactly as Rory remembered—books stacked in precarious towers, scrolls unfurled across the coffee table like the aftermath of some arcane explosion. The three deadbolts on the door had been thrown, which meant Eva had been expecting her. Or dreading her. Rory exhaled, rolling her shoulders as if she could shed the weight of the last six months that easily. "Traffic on the A406 was a nightmare. Some lorry overturned near Neasden." Eva didn’t smile. "You could’ve called." "I did. Twice. You didn’t pick up." A beat. The cat leapt onto the arm of the sofa, fixing Rory with unblinking green eyes. Eva crossed her arms. "I was in the middle of something." Rory knew that tone. It was the one Eva used when she was lying, or when she was hurt and didn’t want to admit it. Probably both. "Right. The *something* that required me to drop everything and come running?" Eva’s jaw tightened. "You make it sound like I asked you to swim the Channel. I just needed to talk." "About what?" Rory stepped further inside, the door clicking shut behind her. The flat was too small for this—too small for the history pressing between them, for the way Eva’s gaze flickered away when Rory looked at her too long. "Because last time we talked, you said you needed space. You said you were done cleaning up my messes." Eva flinched. "That’s not fair." "Isn’t it? You ghosted me for three months, Eva. No calls, no texts, just a single note under my door like we were fucking teenagers." Rory’s voice was steady, but her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting crescents into her skin. The scar on her wrist throbbed, a phantom echo of old pain. "So forgive me if I’m a little confused about why I’m here now." Eva turned away, moving to the kitchenette. The kettle whistled as she yanked it off the stove, sloshing water into two mugs. "I didn’t know who else to call." Rory watched her, the way her shoulders hunched, the way she gripped the counter like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Something was wrong. Eva was a lot of things—brilliant, stubborn, infuriating—but she wasn’t the type to crumble over nothing. Not unless it was bad. Rory softened. "What happened?" Eva didn’t answer at first. She stirred sugar into the tea with more force than necessary, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. "Lucien showed up at the British Library last night." The name hit Rory like a physical blow. Lucien. Of course it was Lucien. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been walking away from her in a dimly lit alley in Soho, his ivory-handled cane tapping against the cobblestones, his heterochromatic eyes unreadable. *I can’t do this anymore*, he’d said. *Not like this.* She’d let him go. She’d had to. Rory swallowed. "What did he want?" Eva finally turned, pressing a mug into Rory’s hands. The tea was too sweet, just how she liked it, but Rory didn’t drink. She couldn’t. Not yet. "He said he had information. About Evan." The name hung between them, ugly and familiar. Evan. Rory’s ex. The reason she’d fled Cardiff in the first place. The reason she still flinched at raised voices, still checked the locks three times before bed. She set the mug down on the nearest stack of books, careful not to spill. "What about him?" Eva’s fingers trembled around her own mug. "He’s in London." Rory’s stomach dropped. "What?" "He’s been asking around. About you. Lucien said he’s been seen at the Black Stag, at the apothecary on Greek Street. He’s looking for you, Rory." A laugh bubbled up in Rory’s throat, sharp and disbelieving. "That’s impossible. He doesn’t know I’m here. No one does. Not even my parents." Eva’s expression was grim. "Lucien thinks he followed you. Or that he’s been tracking you through someone else." Rory’s mind raced. She’d been careful. So careful. No social media, no calls to Cardiff, no paper trail. The only people who knew she was in London were Eva, Silas, Yu-Fei—and Lucien. Her breath hitched. "Did you tell him where I live?" Eva’s silence was answer enough. Rory’s hands clenched. "Eva." "I didn’t have a choice! He said Evan’s dangerous. That he’s not just some abusive ex anymore—he’s involved with something. Something *supernatural*." Eva’s voice cracked. "I was scared, Rory. I didn’t know what else to do." Rory wanted to be angry. She wanted to yell, to storm out, to pretend she didn’t feel the cold dread creeping up her spine. But Eva’s fear was real, written in the dark circles under her eyes, in the way she kept glancing at the door like she expected Evan to kick it in at any moment. Rory exhaled, forcing herself to unclench her fists. "Okay. Okay. We’ll figure this out." Eva’s shoulders sagged in relief. "You’re not mad?" "I’m *furious*," Rory admitted. "But I’m also not stupid. If Evan’s here, if he’s looking for me, then I need to know why." She hesitated, then reached out, brushing her fingers against Eva’s wrist. "And I need to know you’re safe." Eva’s breath hitched. She stepped closer, close enough that Rory could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, close enough that she could smell the vanilla of her shampoo. "I’m sorry," Eva whispered. "For everything. For pushing you away. For not being there when you needed me." Rory’s throat tightened. "I pushed you away first." Eva shook her head. "No. You were just trying to survive. And I made it harder." Her hand found Rory’s, fingers intertwining. "I won’t do that again. I promise." Rory wanted to believe her. God, she wanted to. But trust wasn’t something that came easy to her anymore. Not after Evan. Not after Lucien. She looked down at their joined hands, at the way Eva’s thumb traced circles over her knuckles. "What do we do now?" Eva’s grip tightened. "We find Lucien. We get answers. And then we make sure Evan never gets near you again." Rory nodded, but her mind was already racing ahead. Lucien. Of course he’d be the one to have the answers. Of course he’d be the one to step back into her life just when she’d finally started to forget the way his voice sounded in the dark, the way his hands felt on her skin. She pulled away, suddenly too warm, too aware of the way Eva was looking at her. "I should go. I need to talk to Silas, see if he’s heard anything." Eva’s expression flickered with hurt, but she nodded. "I’ll come with you." Rory shook her head. "No. Stay here. Lock the door. Don’t let anyone in unless it’s me or Lucien." Eva opened her mouth to argue, but Rory cut her off with a look. "Please, Eva. Just this once, let me handle it." Eva hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. But you call me the second you know anything." "I will." Rory turned toward the door, but Eva’s voice stopped her. "Rory?" She looked back. Eva’s eyes were bright, her voice soft. "I missed you." Rory’s chest ached. She wanted to say it back. She wanted to cross the room and pull Eva into her arms and pretend the last six months had never happened. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled in old wounds and new fears. Instead, she just nodded. "I’ll be back soon." And then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, the deadbolts sliding into place like the final word in a conversation that wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.