Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPC2QCQQYWCE56X846M916

Aurora stood in the narrow stairwell of Eva's flat, keys poised in her trembling hand. She glanced over her shoulder but found only shadows and the faint hum of the street below. The twilight draped Brick Lane in a shroud of lavender and rose, making the busy restaurant beneath her friend's flat seem a world apart. Turning back to the door, she drove the key into the first lock. Two twists later, she slid the key into the second deadbolt. Her body flinched as the third lock clicked open. The wooden door creaked as it swung inward, revealing the clutter of Eva's meticulous chaos. Books, scrolls, and notebooks lay strewn across every surface like fractured memories, displaced but essential. The scent of curry drifted upward from below, mingling with the faint musk of old paper and the acrid bite of ink. Ptolemy, Eva's tabby cat, slinked between her legs as she entered, the low rumble of his purrs a soothing undercurrent in the tense air. "Eva?" Rory called, shutting the door behind her. Silence instead of the expected warmth greeted her. Then, the silence broke. "You're early," a voice smooth like aged whiskey sifted through the shadows of the living room. Aurora's heart skipped a beat, her body reacting before her mind processed the sound. "Lucien," she said, her voice a whisper as she stepped further inside. In the gloominess of Eva's flat, the half-demon's heterochromatic eyes gleamed, one amber, one black. His platinum blond hair, meticulously slicked back, caught the dim light, and his tailored charcoal suit clung to him like second skin. The ivory handle of his cane rested against his leg, an extension of his being rather than a mere accessory. He rose from where he had been leaning against a bookshelf, the movement fluid and predatory. Rory's breath caught in her throat as history thrummed between them — attraction, hurt, and scathing words that remained unspoken since their last parting. "Rory," he said softly, the whisper of her name wrapping around her like a lingering caress. "It has been a while." "Not long enough," she countered, the sharpness of her words a fragile shield against the emotions swirling in her chest. His lips curved into a slow, enigmatic smile, a shadow of amusement and something deeper. "Always the sharp tongue. I see some things haven't changed." "You would know," she shot back, refusing to let the old wounds bleed anew. "Believe me," Lucien said, stepping closer, the soft tap of his cane marking his measured approach. "I know better than most." Aurora stiffened, but her body betrayed her fortitude, curving slightly to his proximity. "What are you doing here?" "I could ask you the same," he said, his voice dropping an octave, laced with the faintest hint of his native Marseille. "But I imagine we are both here for the same woman." "Ava?" The realization hit like a shattering pane of glass. "She's missing, isn’t she?" Lucien nodded, something raw briefly flickering in his eyes before his composure returned. "Yes. And I intend to find her." "We intend to find her," Aurora corrected, her chin lifting in defiance. The half-demon's eyes sparkled with a mixture of admiration and reluctant acceptance. "As you wish." Ptolemy meandered to the corner of the room, indifferent to the tension wrapped tightly between the two. Aurora crossed her arms over her chest, a vain attempt to control the wildfire of feelings she'd thought long quenched. "Where do we start?" "With what she left behind," Lucien replied, his voice a blend of silk and steel. "Her notes, any sign that might lead us to her." Aurora nodded, stepping past him to inspect the nearest desk. As she perused the scattered pages, her awareness of Lucien's presence behind her felt like static electricity. "Will you be able to focus?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper, close enough that she could feel the vibration through the air. Her spine stiffened but she refused to turn and catch that gaze she knew would unravel her. "I don't have a choice." A pause, and then, "Neither do I." They fell into a rhythm, the past tethered yet their immediate purpose shared. Rory skimmed through a journal, deciphering Eva's meticulously sparse handwriting. Each entry a breadcrumb, cryptic yet crucial. Beside her, Lucien's fingers danced over ancient tomes with fluid finesse, eyes sharp and unerring. Hours bled into hours, the air thickening with the weight of words left unspoken. Rory paused as she felt Lucien's gaze on her, cutting through the stillness. "Why did you leave?" his voice barely a disturbance in the tenuous silence. The question sliced through her resolve. "You know why," she replied, not tearing her eyes from the journal. "Evan was..." "A monster," Lucien finished for her, his tone restrained fury. "But you left me too." Aurora wouldn't flinch; she refused. "I couldn't bring you into that mess." "I am a broker in the underworld," he countered, frustration leaking into his usually composed demeanor. "Mess is my milieu." She turned to face him then, blue eyes meeting his heterochromatic gaze, a collision of worlds. "I couldn't bear to lose you too." Her voice broke and she hated it, the crack revealing more than her words. His knuckles whitened on the handle of his cane, the only sign that her words had struck deep. "By leaving, you lost me just the same." A tear slipped free, tracing a cold path down her cheek. "And I regret it every day." Lucien's own resolve seemed to waver as he stepped close enough that the heat of his body seeped into her skin. "Regret," he whispered, lifting his hand to gently brush away the tear, "can either bind us or free us." Rory's breath caught as his touch ignited a fire she had long-forgotten could burn so intensely. "We can't change the past," she said, her throat tight and dry. "But we can shape the future," Lucien murmured, his hand still resting on her cheek, a tether not yet severed. "Starting tonight." She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch for the briefest of moments, the smallest of surrenders. "First, we find Eva." "Agreed," he said, the calm in his voice a steady anchor. They pulled apart, the gravity of their history unable to eclipse the immediate urgency of their task. As they turned back to the maze of research, Aurora felt a semblance of balance return — precarious, fragile, but undeniably there. Together, they sifted through Eva's trail of breadcrumbs, the unspoken words threaded between each step, and the promise of what they might rebuild formed the fragile hope that carried them into the night.