Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMNDKP9561RBWK5DMGPJ4J9

The brass knocker scraped against the door like a fingernail on glass. Aurora Carter exhaled through her nose, the scent of roasted peppers and garlic from the Golden Empress lingering on her breath. The flat smelled of old paper and the faint, earthy tang of the cat curled around her ankles—Ptolemy, who had been asleep since the sun had gone down. She didn’t move until the lock clicked open. The door swung inward with a groan, and the sudden light from the hallway blinded her for half a second. Then Lucien Moreau stood there, his tailored charcoal suit crisp against the damp evening air, his cane resting against the doorframe like an extension of himself. His heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—locked onto hers, and something in his gaze made her pulse jump. “Aurora,” he said, voice low, smooth as aged whiskey. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She stepped back, her fingers twitching toward the scar on her wrist, the one from the childhood accident that had left her with a habit of biting her lip when she was nervous. “You didn’t say you’d be coming.” “No,” he admitted, his lips quirking. “I didn’t.” The flat was smaller than she remembered, the shelves of books and scrolls stretching up like a library of secrets. The air smelled of ink and something older, something warm and human—like the scent of her own home. She turned, her gaze flicking over the clutter, and her breath hitched. The way the light caught the edges of the papers, the way the cat’s tail flicked against the floor, made her feel like she was stepping back into something she’d once known, but had tried to forget. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, but the words sounded hollow even to her. Lucien didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, watching her, the way he used to when they were younger, when the world had been simpler. When she’d thought he might still be worth fighting for. “I’m not,” he finally said. “But I am.” The door to the bedroom creaked open behind her, and the scent of lavender and something faintly metallic hit her nose. Aurora whirled around, her heart hammering. Eva stood there, arms crossed, her dark eyes narrowing. “You’re not supposed to be here, either.” Lucien’s smile was slow, knowing. “Eva. How nice to see you.” Eva’s gaze flicked between them, sharp as a blade. “You’re not supposed to be here, Lucien.” Aurora’s stomach twisted. “Eva, this isn’t—” “It’s exactly what it looks like,” Eva cut in, her voice sharp as the edge of a knife. “He’s here because he’s been looking for you. And now he’s here, and you’re here, and I’m not sure what the hell that means.” Lucien’s fingers tightened around the cane’s ivory handle. “I came because I wanted to see you.” Aurora’s breath caught. “You came because you *wanted* to see me?” Eva’s eyes burned with something unreadable. “You two have history. I know you’re not exactly friends, but you’re not enemies either. So if you’re going to be here, you should probably figure out what the hell you’re doing.” Lucien’s gaze never left Aurora’s. “I’m here because I’m not letting you walk away from this again.” The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken words and years of unspoken things. Aurora’s fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, her pulse roaring in her ears. She’d thought she’d left this place behind—left the hurt, the fear, the way he’d looked at her like she was something precious, something fragile, something he’d been willing to break for. But here he was, standing in her flat, and the past wasn’t just a memory anymore. It was a weight pressing down on her shoulders, a ghost at the door, and she wasn’t sure she could handle it. Eva exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping. “Well. I guess we’re stuck with this.” Lucien stepped closer, his voice a low rumble. “We’re not stuck.” Aurora’s breath hitched. “We’re not?” He reached out, his fingers brushing hers, warm and sure. “No. We’re not.” The cat, Ptolemy, stretched lazily and padded over, his tail swishing against the floor. He purred, as if sensing the tension, and curled around Aurora’s ankles, pressing his head against her leg. She didn’t pull away. Lucien’s thumb brushed the scar on her wrist, the one that had been a reminder of the accident that had changed everything. “You’re safe here,” he murmured. Aurora’s lips parted, but no words came. Because she knew, even if she didn’t want to admit it, that he was right. She was safe here. With him. Eva sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But if you two start doing anything stupid, I’m calling Silas.” Lucien’s smile was slow, dangerous. “We’ll keep that in mind.” Aurora watched them, the way they moved together, the way they looked at each other like they’d been waiting for this moment their whole lives. And for the first time in years, she didn’t feel like running. She felt like staying.