Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPE15NY9XBSQAPN0JVGXN8

Lucien froze at the sound of a deadbolt clicking open. His mind conjured a thousand possible outcomes flitting by in a heartbeat. The door creaked inward, and there she stood. Her hair a disheveled mess, clutching a book to her chest like a shield. Porcelain skin drawn in alarm day old wrinkles. Eyes a crackle of ginger and grit. Rory. She squinted into the dim corridor, not yet recognizing him. "What are you doing here?" Damn, but she could scowl. He should have been used to it. "Allow me to let myself in," he said, gesturing to the threshold. "Not bloody likely. It'll be over my dead—" Lucien straightened, pinning her with a stare that had men twice her size quailing. "May I remind you that I'm not some poxy civilian, pilot. I am not to be trifled with. And you will let me the devil in, or I'll take that sweet arse door off its hinges myself." Rory gaped, blinking rapidly. Then, inexplicably, her gaze dropped to his crotch. Her face flamed crimson. What the hell was that about? She hastily stepped back, dragging a hand down her face. The gesture knocked the book to the floor with a slap. "Come in then, you colossal prick." Lucien noted the telltale tremble of anger in her shoulders, but he strode past her as if she hadn't a care. The barest hint of lavender and old books greeted him, evoking memories he'd rather forget. "I knew you'd show up again someday," Rory muttered, locking the deadbolts. "Nothing you bloody say will change a damn thing, so—" Lucien whirled, catching her by the elbow before she could slip away. She gasped, book and manila folder in both hands. He leaned in close, inhaling the scent of her skin. Sweet hell, she smelled good. Like the crisp air before a thunderstorm. Rory wrenched free, taking an unstable step back. She clutched the folder protectively. The silence demanded an explanation. He offered her a wry smile. "I'd have come sooner, but I was under the impression we were detested by one another." "("I can barely tolerate you, you infuriating bastard.") Because we are. Look, whatever this visit is about, I don't have time for it." Lucien's gaze slid to the long-ignored folder in her grasp. The title on the cover read: `THESIS: DYNAMICS OF INTERSPECIES CO-EXISTENCE IN URBAN CENTRAL BANKS` His eyes widened. "Why do you look so smug, Lucifer? You act like you've never seen a thesis before..." Lucien managed to keep his expression neutral, but his stomach turned over. Christ, the woman was brilliant. For all the grief she gave him, she'd apparently been conducting ghost research on her own time. He ought to be bloody impressed. She gave him a hard look. "I made damn sure to stay away from that dusty old heap. For a lot of reasons." Rory squared her shoulders. "So, you gonna give me an explanation or what?" Abruptly, he felt ill. Seeing her again, this woman who had eclipsed him so thoroughly—he'd wanted that, hadn't he? That spark, that challenge. That intoxicating fire. Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Let's get the drama out of the way—do you have a few pints in you?" Silence. He felt the weight of Rory's stare, heavy with unspoken words and resentment. Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. "Penny for your thoughts?" ("Rory, uncharacteristically vicious: His nerve. His absolute bloody nerve.") An eternity passed, measuring the ticking clock on the wall. He straightened his tie, swallowing as he studied her. "I will not dignify that with a response. You'd never let me hear the end of it." Rory folded her arms, cutting him with a glare. "I think it makes me a little bit crazy. Seeing you, I mean. You just show up like this, when I'm right in the middle of..." He swallowed. "Being brilliant?" Her shoulders slumped. "Needy, apparently." Lucien heaved a put-upon sigh that emerged as more of a grunt. "Can we help you pack?" She raised an eyebrow. "You want to help me pack?" He winced at the condescension, steeling against the instinctive pang of hurt. Damn it all, but he was still madly in love with her. "I'd rather be duct-taped to a cactus than help you pack a moving van. But I wouldn't send you off into the great unknown alone, would I?" Rory fidgeted with the folder, chewing on her lip. Her chin wobbled once, before she quickly wiped it away. ("Like you give a fig about what happens to me now, Mr. Shame. You made that quite clear when you ran the other way...") Bloody hell, he hated that. Hated that she was carrying all this pain and anger because of him. Hated that he couldn't lay hands on himself and relive that day forever. He'd give anything to carve out a different path, to tell Rory he'd been a coward, that he hadn't meant a word—no, that he'd meant every word, but out of fear. Fear and superstition and a misplaced sense of duty. Lucien took a faltering step forward. His skin prickled with longing. She stiffened, a princess drawing into her shell. "But you're still a person. A undesirable one, but a person nonetheless. So I guess that settles it. You'll come with me, and that's that." Rory released a shuddering breath, her bright eyes glistening with tears. "I don't know why I'm even entertaining this. You're nothing but trouble, you know. I'll probably be maimed in my sleep." Lucien smiled an instruction. "Probably." "Oh, God..." She shuddered and slammed the back of her head against the closet door. "This is like being stuck with a bad joke. How do I get out of this?" He bit his tongue at that. Made busy work piling up her clothes. Barely registered when she started crying. "Hey, now." His throat ached. "It'll be fine. We'll find this bird and everything will be splendid. I m-mean it." He swallowed thickly, dangerously close to tears himself. Jesus Christ. "I haven't forgotten what happened with S أف con. I'm sorry we stayed away for so long, it's just that... I didn't know if you'd even want to talk to m-" The phone trilled deafeningly. Rory smiled thinly. "Saved by the bell." Lucien frowned and glanced at the receiver, the blinking light on Rory's answering machine. Who could it be at this hour? Rory snatched up the handset before he could splash cold water on his face. "Hello?" She listened in silence, her face clouding over. Then, "Get here. Now." The line went dead, Rory sagging like a marionette with cut strings. Lucien rushed to her side. "What is it? What's going on?" With shaking hands, Rory dropped the handset. She stared at the phone like she couldn't believe what she'd heard. "That was DetectiveMagento." Her voice quavered. "I think we've found him, Mr. Shame." Lucien's gut lurched. "The Butcher? But how—Melissa, is she—" "She's dead. They found her body in an abandoned warehouse..." Rory gagged on a sob, clutching at him. "She's dead, Mr. Shame." No, no no. Melissa was...she was...he shook his head. Rory sagged against him. Her entire body quaked. "Wh-what do we do now?" Lucien pressed into the crook of her neck, burying his nose in her silky hair. His heart thundered. The Butcher is dead, came a hollow part of him. It's over. It's all finally OVER... But his arms moved of their own accord to encircle Rory's waist, hugging her to his wool coat. "We'll do what we always do," he murmured, breathing deep. "We'll finish the job." And with that, he sealed their fates forevermore.