Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPAQSV9GDY0883FZXDM5XT

The doorbell chimed, a shrill, insistent sound that pierced the quiet hum of Rory's flat. She glanced at the clock, her brows furrowing. It was late, too late for unexpected visitors. She padded to the door, her steps muffled by the threadbare carpet, and peered through the peephole. A familiar face stared back, one she hadn't seen in months. Lucien Moreau, the Frenchman, stood in the dimly lit hallway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored charcoal suit. His heterochromatic eyes, one amber, one black, met hers through the fish-eye lens. Rory took a deep breath, steeling herself. She hadn't seen him since that night, since the argument that had left them both raw and hurting. She undid the three deadbolts, a ritual she'd adopted after moving into Eva's flat, and opened the door. "Lucien," she acknowledged, her voice cool. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. Her straight, shoulder-length black hair fell in a curtain around her face, shielding her bright blue eyes from his gaze. "Rory," he replied, a small smile playing on his lips. His French accent, usually a soft purr, was slightly more pronounced, a sign of his nervousness. "I apologize for the late hour. I needed to see you." She raised an eyebrow, stepping aside to let him in. "Needed to, or wanted to?" she asked, closing the door behind him. The tabby cat, Ptolemy, wound around her ankles, meowing softly. She bent to scratch his ears, a delaying tactic. Lucien shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the worn couch. "Is there a difference?" he countered, turning to face her. His ivory-handled cane, a thin blade concealed within, tapped softly against the floor. Rory straightened, her eyes narrowing. "There is, when you show up unannounced at my doorstep, Luc." He sighed, running a hand through his slicked-back platinum blond hair. "I know. I just... I needed to talk to you, Rory. About us." She stiffened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "There is no 'us', Luc. Not anymore." Lucien stepped closer, his eyes searching hers. "There could be," he said softly. "If you'd let it." Rory took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest. She gestured to the couch, a silent invitation to sit. She needed space, needed to think. Lucien sat, his back rigid, his hands clasped between his knees. She paced the length of the room, her mind racing. The flat was small, cramped even, filled with books and scrolls and research notes. Eva's influence was evident, but Rory had made it her own, too. A small, framed picture of her parents sat on the windowsill, a reminder of home. "You can't just waltz back into my life, Luc," she said finally, her voice steady. "Not after everything that happened." Lucien looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "I know," he said. "But I can't stop thinking about you, Rory. About us. About what we had." She stopped pacing, her eyes flashing. "What we had was a mess, Luc. A beautiful, complicated mess. And you know why it ended." He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I do. And I'm sorry, Rory. I'm sorry for pushing you away, for not trusting you. I was... scared." Rory's breath hitched, a sharp, unexpected sound. She hadn't expected him to admit it, to lay his fears bare. She sat down on the armchair across from him, her hands clasped in her lap. "Scared of what, Luc?" she asked softly. He looked up, his eyes filled with a vulnerability she'd never seen before. "Of losing you," he admitted. "Of you finding out the truth about me, about what I am. About what I've done." Rory's heart ached for him, for the pain she heard in his voice. She knew about his past, about the darkness that haunted him. She knew about the realm of Avaros, about the demon blood that flowed through his veins. She knew about the fixer he'd been, the information broker in London's supernatural underworld. And she knew that none of it mattered, not to her. "You're not that person anymore, Luc," she said, her voice steady. "You've changed. We've both changed." He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "We have," he agreed. "And I want to change more, Rory. With you. If you'll let me." Rory looked at him, really looked at him. She saw the hope in his eyes, the love that had never faded. She saw the man she'd fallen in love with, the man she'd never stopped loving. She took a deep breath, her decision made. "I can't promise anything, Luc," she said, her voice soft. "But I can try. We can try." A slow smile spread across Lucien's face, a smile that lit up his eyes, that made him look younger, happier. He stood, crossing the distance between them in two long strides. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn't realized she'd shed. "Trying is enough," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For now, it's enough." And then he kissed her, a soft, gentle kiss that tasted of promises and second chances. And Rory kissed him back, her heart swelling with hope, with love, with the promise of a future together.