Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPHCJRK28XV9HK8MXMNXB9

Rory stared at the peephole, her heart pounding. Through the tiny lens, he looked impossibly sharp, his platinum blond hair catching the weak light from the hallway sconce. Lucien Moreau hadn’t changed at all. Tailored charcoal suit, ivory-handled cane resting casually against his leg, that maddening half-smirk on his lips. Three years, and he looked like he’d stepped out of a bloody fashion spread. Her fingers tightened on the door handle. She could ignore him. Pretend she wasn’t home. But he’d track her down eventually; he always did. She exhaled sharply and turned the deadbolts. The door creaked open, and there he was, close enough that she caught the faint scent of bergamot and sandalwood. His mismatched eyes — one amber, one black — swept over her, lingering on her black hair, her bright blue eyes, the way she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. "Rory," he said, her name rolling off his tongue like a melody. "You look well." "Luc," she replied, her voice tight. "What do you want?" He tilted his head, that infuriating smirk deepening. "Can’t a man visit an old friend without suspicion?" "We weren’t friends," she shot back, stepping aside to let him in. She didn’t want the neighbors eavesdropping. Not that anyone on Brick Lane cared much, but still. Lucien stepped past her, his cane tapping lightly on the worn wooden floor. He glanced around the flat, taking in the chaos of books, scrolls, and research notes that cluttered every surface. Ptolemy, Eva’s tabby cat, lounged on the sofa, watching him with lazy disinterest. "Cozy," Lucien remarked, his tone dry. "It’s Eva’s place," Rory said defensively, shutting the door and re-engaging the deadbolts. "I’m just staying here temporarily." "Ah, yes," he murmured, picking up a scroll from the coffee table. "The ever-charming Eva. How is she?" "Busy," Rory said shortly, snatching the scroll from his hands and setting it back down. "Why are you here, Luc?" He straightened, his expression sobering. "I need your help." She barked a laugh. "Of course you do. What is it this time? Another cursed artifact? A runaway demonling? Or perhaps you’ve misplaced your common decency again." His gaze was steady, unflinching. "It’s more complicated than that." "Isn’t it always?" she muttered, crossing her arms again. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her, that piercing, calculating stare that always made her feel like she was being dissected. "I didn’t come here to fight, Rory," he said softly. Her jaw tightened. "Then you shouldn’t have come at all." The flat fell silent, the tension thickening like fog. Ptolemy stretched lazily and hopped off the sofa, padding into the kitchen. Rory watched him go, anything to avoid meeting Lucien’s gaze. "You’re still angry," he observed. She snorted. "Astute observation." "It’s been three years," he said, taking a step closer. She could feel the heat radiating from him, that unnatural warmth that always accompanied him. Part of his heritage, she supposed. "And yet," she said, her voice low, "here you are, waltzing in like nothing happened. Like you didn’t—" She cut herself off, biting her lip. "Like I didn’t what?" he pressed, his voice equally soft. She glared at him, her bright blue eyes blazing. "Like you didn’t break my heart," she snapped, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. He froze, his mismatched eyes widening slightly. "Rory..." "Don’t," she warned, holding up a hand. "Don’t you dare act like you didn’t know." "I didn’t," he said, his voice rough. "I thought... I thought you understood." "Understood what?" she demanded. "That I was just another pawn in your grand scheme? Another asset to exploit?" His jaw tightened, a flicker of anger crossing his face. "You were never just an asset, Rory." "No?" she challenged, stepping closer. "Then what was I? A distraction? A convenience?" "You were... everything," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. "Don’t," she said again, her voice trembling. "Don’t say that." "Why not?" he asked, closing the distance between them. "It’s the truth." "Because..." she swallowed hard, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Because it’s too late, Luc. You had your chance, and you blew it." He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek. She flinched but didn’t pull away. "I was wrong," he said, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. "I thought I was protecting you." "Protecting me?" she repeated, incredulous. "By pushing me away? By disappearing without a word?" "I thought it was for the best," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I thought if you stayed, you’d get hurt. Or worse." "And you didn’t think I could handle it?" she asked, her voice rising. "You didn’t think I deserved the truth?" "I was afraid," he admitted, his gaze dropping to her lips. "Afraid of what I felt. Afraid of what it would do to you." Her heart ached, the walls she’d built around it crumbling with each word he spoke. "You’re a coward," she whispered. "Yes," he agreed, his hand cupping her cheek. "But I’m here now. And I’m not leaving this time." She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as a torrent of emotions washed over her. "I don’t know if I can trust you," she whispered. "You don’t have to," he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. "Not yet. But give me a chance to prove myself." She opened her eyes, finding his gaze steady and sincere. The anger, the hurt, the longing — it all swirled together, leaving her breathless. "You’ll hurt me again," she said, her voice breaking. "Maybe," he admitted. "But I’ll spend every day trying to make up for it." She searched his face, looking for any hint of deceit. But all she saw was honesty, vulnerability, and a raw, aching need that mirrored her own. "Damn you," she whispered, her hands clutching the lapels of his suit. He smiled — a genuine, unguarded smile that made her heart skip a beat. "I missed you, Rory." She let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I missed you too, you idiot." He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly like he never wanted to let go. She buried her face in his chest, breathing in his scent, the warmth of his body enveloping her. For the first time in three years, she felt whole again. "I’m sorry," he murmured into her hair. "For everything." She nodded, her throat too tight to speak. They stood there for what felt like hours, the world outside forgotten. When they finally pulled apart, he kept his hands on her shoulders, his gaze searching hers. "So," she said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "What’s this complicated thing you need my help with?" He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Later," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Right now, I just want to be here. With you." She smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her bright blue eyes. "Okay," she said softly. "We’ll figure it out. Together." "Together," he agreed, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. And for the first time in a long time, Rory felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.