Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPF571ZE5K8F63HWA8SAAH

Rory's hand hesitated on the doorknob, her mind racing with the implication of the person standing on the other side. The knock had been insistent, a rhythmic drumbeat that refused to be ignored. She hadn't expected visitors, especially not after the late night she'd had delivering takeout for Yu-Fei. The peephole revealed a familiar, angular face, platinum blond hair slicked back to perfection. Lucien Moreau. The Frenchman. Her heart stumbled, a skipped beat that left her lightheaded. They hadn't parted on the best of terms, the tension between them a living, breathing thing. Rory's fingers closed around the doorknob, the metal cool against her skin. She turned it, and the door creaked open. Lucien's gaze swept over her, a quick assessment that lingered on the dark smudges under her eyes and the ratty old t-shirt she wore. Rory felt a flutter in her chest, a spark of defensiveness she quickly doused. She had nothing to prove to him. "Aurora," Lucien said, his voice low and smooth, the hint of a French accent that never failed to make her skin prickle. "May I come in?" Rory stepped aside, the motion fluid despite the tension coiling in her muscles. "I suppose you're already here." Lucien's smile was a thin, mirthless thing. He strode past her, his eyes scanning the cramped flat with a practiced air. Rory shut the door behind him, the click of the deadbolts a familiar comfort. She followed him into the main room, her eyes drawn to the way he moved with the quiet confidence of a cat. Ptolemy, Eva's tabby, was watching from the windowsill, tail twitching with interest. "What brings you to my doorstep, Lucien?" Rory asked, trying to sound casual despite the thrum of her pulse. They'd left things...unresolved. The memory of his lips on hers, the spark of attraction that had flared to life, still lingered in her mind like an open flame. Lucien turned, his heterochromatic eyes locking onto hers. The amber seemed to glow in the dim light, while the black pupil appeared to bore into her very soul. "I see you're still as charming as ever, Rory." The barb stung, but she refused to rise to the bait. "What do you want, Lucien?" He shrugged, the motion elegant in the tailored charcoal suit he wore. "I need to speak with you about a matter of some importance. May I sit?" Rory nodded, gesturing to the cluttered armchair in the corner. Lucien navigated the stacks of books and research papers with ease, his movements economical as he sat. She chose the couch, trying to create some distance between them, but Lucien's presence seemed to fill the room, making the space feel smaller. "What is it?" Rory asked again, her patience wearing thin. Lucien's gaze never wavered. "I've received information about a potential threat to your...extracurricular activities. I thought it prudent to warn you." Rory's mind began to spin, the implications of his words sparking a flurry of questions. But before she could ask any of them, Lucien's eyes dropped to her wrist, his gaze lingering on the small, crescent-shaped scar. A muscle in his jaw flexed, and for an instant, Rory thought she saw something like regret flicker across his face. The moment hung between them, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Then, Lucien's mask slipped back into place, and he was the suave, calculating fixer once more. "Tell me, Rory," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "how's life been treating you?" The question was a trap, a probing for weaknesses she refused to acknowledge. Rory's smile was a thin, sharp thing. "It's been treating me just fine, Lucien. Thanks for asking." The air was thick with tension, the silence between them a palpable, living thing. Ptolemy, sensing the mood, stood and stretched, arching her back in a languid curve. Rory reached out, scratching behind the cat's ears, the familiar motion a comforting distraction from the emotions swirling inside her. Lucien's eyes never left hers, the amber gleam burning with an inner intensity. For an instant, Rory thought she saw something there, a spark of attraction that threatened to consume them both. Then, it was gone, replaced by the urbane, calculating gaze she knew so well. The silence stretched out, a brittle, fragile thing. Rory waited, her heart pounding in her chest, for Lucien to make the next move. But for now, they simply sat, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside and the quiet, steady beat of her heart.