Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMNC0DHS5ZFR75ZCP45Z4VH

The door to Eva’s flat creaked open before Aurora could even reach for the third deadbolt, the sound slicing through the quiet hum of the city below. She froze, her fingers tightening around the brass key, the scent of rain-slicked pavement and distant curry wafting in through the gap. Then—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of step that knew the weight of the world and didn’t care to lighten it. Aurora exhaled, her breath fogging the air just slightly, and turned the last lock with a sharp click. The door swung inward, revealing the dim glow of a single lamp on the kitchen counter, casting long shadows across the cluttered floor. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, lifted his head from his perch on the windowsill, tail flicking, before curling back into a ball with a disinterested *mrrp*. And then he was there. Lucien Moreau stood just inside the doorway, his tall frame filling the threshold like a promise made and broken all at once. His platinum blond hair was still slicked back, but the tailored charcoal suit he wore was rumpled at the shoulders, as if he’d been leaning against something—someone—for hours. His cane rested against the wall beside him, the ivory handle catching the lamplight. One amber eye met hers, the other black, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The air between them crackled, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Aurora’s pulse hammered in her throat. She should have known. Should have *felt* it the moment she’d stepped onto Brick Lane, the way the cobblestones seemed to shift beneath her boots, the way the wind carried his scent—woodsmoke and something darker, something that made her skin prickle. *Lucien.* “You’re early,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. The words tasted like ash. “For the meeting.” His lips quirked, just slightly, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I’m not here for the meeting.” The words hung between them, heavy as a dropped blade. Aurora’s fingers twitched at her sides. She should close the door. She should call out to Ptolemy, demand he come here, *now*, and act as witness to the fact that she was not alone. But the cat was already halfway down the stairs, his tail lashing in irritation at being disturbed. Lucien stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft *thud*. The flat seemed to shrink around them, the books and scrolls and half-empty tea cups suddenly too close, too personal. Aurora’s eyes flicked to the scar on her wrist, the one she’d given him years ago—*accidentally*, she’d insisted then, though he’d known better. He’d traced it with his fingers, murmured something in French that made her pulse jump, and then he’d walked away before she could ask what it meant. Now, his gaze flicked to her arm, lingering just a second too long. “You still have that,” he said, voice low. Aurora pulled her sleeve down, though it did nothing to hide the truth. “It’s just a scar.” “A scar from a knife,” he corrected, his cane tapping once against the floor. “A knife I *gave* you.” The words hit her like a physical blow. She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “You were drunk. You didn’t mean it.” “Didn’t I?” His voice dropped, rougher now. “Or was it just easier to blame the alcohol?” Aurora’s breath hitched. She remembered that night—the way the air had been thick with the stink of cheap gin and something older, something *hungry*. She remembered the way he’d looked at her then, his amber eye gleaming in the dim light, his black eye cold and calculating. She remembered the way he’d *wanted* her, and the way she’d wanted him back, even as she’d known it was a mistake. “You left,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You just… left.” Lucien’s jaw tightened. “And you let me.” The words were like a knife twist. Aurora’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I didn’t have a choice.” “You always have a choice,” he shot back, his voice sharp. “You just don’t like the ones you’re given.” She flinched. “That’s not fair.” “Isn’t it?” His gaze darkened. “You ran from me like I was poison. Like I was *too much*.” Aurora’s chest ached. She remembered the way he’d made her feel—alive, in a way she hadn’t been in years. She remembered the way he’d made her *need* him, even as she’d been terrified of what he’d do to her if she let herself. “You were dangerous,” she said, her voice breaking just a little. “You still are.” Lucien’s lips twisted. “And you’re still running.” She opened her mouth to argue, but the words died on her tongue. Because he was right. She *was* running. From him, from the past, from the way he made her feel like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, one wrong step and she’d fall into something dark and beautiful and terrifying. Ptolemy chose that moment to leap onto the counter, landing with a soft *thump* beside a half-empty cup of tea. He stared at them both, unblinking, before flicking his tail and sauntering off toward the kitchen. The silence that followed was heavier than the weight of the world. Aurora broke it first. “What do you want, Lucien?” His gaze flicked to her, sharp and assessing. “The same thing I always have.” “Which is?” “You.” The word hung between them, simple and devastating. Aurora’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to deny it. She wanted to tell him to go, to leave her alone, to never come back. But the truth was, she’d missed him. She’d missed the way he made her feel—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him, like he saw her, really saw her, even when she was at her worst. “Why now?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Lucien’s gaze darkened. “Because I’m tired of waiting.” Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. But she knew better. She knew that the second she let herself, he’d take everything from her—her heart, her sanity, her soul. “You’re playing with fire,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. Lucien’s lips curled into a smirk. “I’ve been playing with fire since the day I met you.” Aurora’s breath hitched. She remembered that day—the way he’d looked at her, like she was something rare and precious. She remembered the way he’d made her feel, like she was the only woman in the world who could tame him. “You’re not the same man I knew,” she said, her voice trembling just a little. Lucien’s gaze darkened. “No. I’m not.” “And I’m not the same woman,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “I’m stronger. I’m—” “Smarter?” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “You were always too smart for your own good.” Aurora’s cheeks flushed. “I’m not running anymore.” Lucien’s gaze darkened. “Good.” Aurora’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. But she knew better. She knew that the second she let herself, he’d take everything from her—her heart, her sanity, her soul. “What changed?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s gaze darkened. “I changed.” Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that he was different, that he wasn’t the same man who’d left her broken and bleeding on the pavement outside the Golden Empress. “And me?” she asked, her voice trembling just a little. Lucien’s gaze darkened. “You’re still you.” Aurora’s breath hitched. She remembered the way he’d looked at her, like she was something rare and precious. She remembered the way he’d made her feel, like she was the only woman in the world who could tame him. “Then what do we do now?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. Lucien’s gaze darkened. “We start over.” Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that they could start over, that they could be the couple they’d almost been, that they could be the family they’d almost had. But she knew better. She knew that the second she let herself, he’d take everything from her—her heart, her sanity, her soul. “And if it doesn’t work?” she asked, her voice trembling just a little. Lucien’s gaze darkened. “Then we’ll try again.” Aurora’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. But she knew better. She knew that the second she let herself, he’d take everything from her—her heart, her sanity, her soul. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s gaze darkened. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.” Aurora’s breath hitched. She remembered the way he’d looked at her, like she was something rare and precious. She remembered the way he’d made her feel, like she was the only woman in the world who could tame him. “And I can’t stop thinking about you either,” she admitted, her voice trembling just a little. Lucien’s gaze darkened. “Then let’s start over.” Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that they could start over, that they could be the couple they’d almost been, that they could be the family they’d almost had. But she knew better. She knew that the second she let herself, he’d take everything from her—her heart, her sanity, her soul. She took a step toward him, her heart pounding in her chest. “Let’s.” Lucien’s gaze darkened. “Good.” Aurora reached out, her fingers brushing against his sleeve, the fabric smooth and cool beneath her touch. Lucien’s breath hitched, his gaze locking onto hers, his amber eye gleaming in the lamplight. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough. Aurora nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’m sure.” Lucien’s gaze darkened. “Then let’s start over.” Aurora smiled, her heart pounding in her chest. “Let’s.”