Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPCDMR4FA872DNFV34A97C

The knock came just as the final light of the day was slipping away, the kind of knock that demanded attention without being rude. Aurora Carter, known to her friends as Rory, had been poring over ancient texts for hours, the familiar weight of her mother’s old books pressing into her hands as she sat on the threadbare couch. The flat above Eva’s curry house on Brick Lane was a sanctuary of sorts, a maze of books and research notes that seemed to grow with every passing day. The cat, Ptolemy, lay sprawled across the coffee table, his tabby fur a patchwork of light and shadow. Rory set the book aside, her fingers brushing against the worn leather cover before she stood. The three deadbolts on the front door were a testament to Eva’s paranoia, but Rory had grown used to the ritual. She turned the first key, the second, and then the third, the familiar click of each lock echoing in the quiet flat. The door opened to reveal a figure she hadn’t expected to see again. Lucien Moreau, the Frenchman, stood in the dimly lit hallway, his platinum blond hair slicked back and his heterochromatic eyes—amber and black—searching hers. He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, the lapels perfectly pressed, the lines of his form accentuated by the cut. If it wasn’t for the cane in his hand, the ivory handle gleaming in the faint light, he would have looked like a businessman stepping out of a boardroom. Rory’s breath caught in her throat. “Lucien,” she managed, her voice a whisper. “Rory,” he replied, his tone neutral, but the corners of his mouth twitched, the slightest hint of a smile. “May I come in?” She stepped back, the door creaking as it opened wider. Ptolemy, startled by the movement, leapt off the coffee table and vanished into the bedroom. Lucien stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a soft thud. The air in the flat seemed to shift, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Rory’s fingers traced the edge of the couch as they walked to the middle of the room. “What brings you here, Lucien?” she asked, her voice steadier now. He leaned his cane against the wall and turned to face her. “I have information you might be interested in. It concerns your ex, Evan.” Rory’s stomach tightened. Evan had been the reason she fled Cardiff, the reason she found herself in London, living in a flat above a curry house and working part-time deliveries. “What about him?” she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and wariness. Lucien’s eyes, one amber, one black, locked onto hers. “He’s been asking questions about you. Questions he shouldn’t be asking. I thought you should know.” Rory’s mind raced, the words processing slowly. “Why would he be asking questions now? After all this time?” Lucien’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. “People change, Rory. Sometimes, they become more dangerous. I’ve been keeping an eye on him, and it seems he’s involved with some unsavory characters. Characters who might be interested in you for reasons I don’t fully understand yet.” The weight of his words settled on her, a cold sensation creeping up her spine. “What do you need from me?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. His gaze lingered on her, a moment of silence passing between them. “I need your trust. I need you to listen to what I have to say, and I need you to be careful. Evan isn’t the only one looking for you.” Rory’s hands clenched into fists. “I can take care of myself,” she said, the familiar defiance rising within her. “I know you can,” Lucien responded, his voice gentle. “But this is more than just him. There are forces at play here that you might not understand. Forces that can be … deadly.” The room felt smaller, the walls closing in around them. Rory’s heart pounded, a mix of fear and something else, something she couldn’t quite name. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, her voice a whisper. “I want you to stay here, for now. Let me handle this. I have connections, resources. I can keep you safe.” Rory’s mind flashed back to the nights they had spent together, the stolen moments of laughter and warmth, the whispered promises that seemed to fade with the morning light. She remembered the way he would look at her, his eyes full of a depth she had never seen in anyone else. But there was also the history, the hurt, the things left unsaid. She had left without a word, without a goodbye, and now he was here, standing in her flat, offering her protection. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “Not after everything.” Lucien’s expression hardened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something she couldn’t ignore. “I understand why you feel that way. But I’m here because I care about you, Rory. I’ve always cared about you. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” Rory’s heart ached, the old feelings resurfacing, a tide she couldn’t control. “Why now, Lucien? Why come back into my life after all this time? Why not just let me be?” He stepped closer, the air between them charged with tension. “Because I can’t let you go. Not again. Not when there’s a chance I can make things right.” His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek, the touch gentle, almost reverent. Rory’s breath hitched, her body reacting to his nearness, to the warmth of his skin. Her heart was a drum in her chest, the beat loud and insistent. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry for everything. For not being there when you needed me. For not saying the things I should have said. I’m here now, Rory. And I’m not going anywhere.” Rory’s eyes stung, the tears threatening to fall. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. She had built her life here, in this flat, with Eva and Ptolemy and the books that filled the walls. But there was a part of her that still ached for what she had left behind, for the man standing in front of her. “Stay,” she finally whispered, the word barely a breath. “Stay and tell me everything.” Lucien’s eyes softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I will,” he said, his voice a promise. “I will tell you everything.” He stepped closer, his arms wrapping around her, and she allowed herself to melt into his embrace. The scent of his cologne, a mix of spice and something indefinably masculine, wrapped around her, a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. Ptolemy mewed from the bedroom, a soft sound that seemed almost approving. Rory closed her eyes, the tension in her body easing. For the first time in a long time, she felt a sense of peace, a sense of belonging. Lucien’s presence was a balm to her weary soul, a reminder that sometimes, even the most broken things can find a way to mend. They stood there, in the middle of the cramped flat, surrounded by books and research notes and the memories of their past. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, bound by history, hurt, and the unspoken promise of a future they both desperately wanted to believe in.