Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPHDNE9GACAHCQZVFS4P7M

The knock at the door was firm, deliberate, and entirely unexpected. Rory froze mid-step, the teacup in her hand trembling slightly as the sound echoed through Eva's cluttered flat. Ptolemy perked up from his spot on the windowsill, tail twitching. Rory hesitated, glancing at the clock. It was past nine—too late for Eva, who was out of town, and much too late for anyone else who might have a reason to be here. Her mind raced, but her feet carried her to the door before she could talk herself out of it. She peered through the peephole, her breath catching in her throat. Lucien Moreau stood on the other side, his platinum blond hair perfectly styled, his heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—glinting under the dim hallway light. He leaned casually on his ivory-handled cane, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, as though he already knew she was there. Rory’s pulse quickened, her grip tightening on the teacup. She hadn’t seen him in months, not since that night at the Black Lily when everything had gone sideways. He’d told her to leave London, to get far away from him and the dangerous world he inhabited. She hadn’t listened, of course, but she hadn’t sought him out, either. And now here he was, standing outside Eva’s flat as though no time had passed at all. She hesitated a moment longer before unlocking the door, her fingers fumbling with the deadbolts. When she finally swung it open, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension. “Lucien,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. “This is unexpected.” His smirk deepened, and he tilted his head slightly, studying her with that unnerving gaze. “Aurora,” he drawled, her name rolling off his tongue like a caress. “Or should I call you Rory? It’s been a while.” “Aurora’s fine,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. The teacup was still clutched in her hand, but she barely noticed it now. “What are you doing here?” “Can’t a man pay a visit to an old friend?” he asked, his tone light, but there was something darker lurking beneath the surface. “We’re not friends,” she said bluntly, though the words felt heavy on her tongue. “And you know it.” His expression flickered, the smirk faltering for the briefest of moments before he recovered. “Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But we’re not enemies, either. And I need your help.” Rory blinked, thrown off balance. “My help? Since when do you need anyone’s help, let alone mine?” “Since tonight,” he replied, his voice dropping to a low, almost gravelly tone that sent a shiver down her spine. “And since you’re the only person in this city I can trust.” She wanted to laugh, to tell him he was out of his mind, but the seriousness in his eyes stopped her. Lucien didn’t joke about things like this. Whatever had brought him here, it was serious. “What’s going on?” she asked, her guard lowering despite herself. He glanced past her into the flat, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic mess of books and papers. “Mind if I come in? This isn’t exactly a hallway conversation.” Rory hesitated, torn between slamming the door in his face and letting him in. Curiosity won out. She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. “Fine. But make it quick.” Lucien stepped inside, his presence instantly filling the small space. He moved with a grace that always seemed at odds with his cane, his tailored charcoal suit impeccable as always. Ptolemy hissed softly from his perch, clearly unimpressed with the newcomer. “Charming,” Lucien remarked, nodding at the cat. “I see Eva’s taste in roommates hasn’t improved.” Rory rolled her eyes, shutting the door behind him. “What do you want, Lucien?” He turned to face her, his expression sobering. “There’s something coming,” he said quietly. “Something dangerous. And it’s tied to you.” Her stomach dropped, the teacup slipping from her fingers and shattering on the floor. She barely noticed the mess, her focus entirely on him. “What are you talking about?” “You remember the Black Lily,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “The night we… parted ways. There were things I didn’t tell you. Things I should have.” Rory’s heart pounded in her chest, the memory of that night flooding back. The dimly lit club, the whispered secrets, the way he’d looked at her before telling her to leave. “What things?” Lucien’s jaw tightened, and for the first time, she saw a crack in his usually unflappable demeanor. “The man we were after—the one who got away—he’s back. And he’s not alone. He’s been gathering allies, and he’s made it clear that you’re his next target.” Her blood ran cold. “Why me? What does he want with me?” “Because of me,” Lucien admitted, his voice heavy with regret. “He thinks you’re important to me. And he’s not entirely wrong.” The words hung in the air between them, thick and unspoken. Rory stared at him, her mind reeling. “You’re saying he’s coming after me because of you?” “Yes,” Lucien said, stepping closer. His amber and black eyes bore into hers, filled with a mix of guilt and determination. “And I can’t let that happen. I won’t.” She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “So what’s the plan? You swoop in like some knight in shining armor and save me?” “Hardly,” he replied with a faint smirk. “But I do have resources. And I know how he thinks. If we work together, we can stop him before he gets anywhere near you.” Rory crossed her arms again, her mind racing. Part of her wanted to tell him to leave, to handle this on her own. But another part—the part that still remembered the way he’d made her feel that night—begged her to trust him. “Why now?” she asked softly. “You told me to stay away from you. Said it was too dangerous. What changed?” Lucien’s expression softened, and he reached out, brushing a strand of her black hair behind her ear. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through her. “Because I realized something,” he murmured. “Telling you to leave didn’t make you safer. It just kept me from protecting you when you needed it most.” Her breath caught, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick with everything they hadn’t said, everything they’d left unfinished. “Lucien,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. He leaned in, his forehead brushing against hers. “I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said quietly. “I’m just asking you to let me make this right.” Her heart ached, torn between the hurt he’d caused and the undeniable pull she still felt toward him. “It’s not that simple,” she said, her voice trembling. “I know,” he replied, his breath warm against her skin. “But we don’t have time for simple. Not now.” Rory closed her eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She knew he was right—knew that whatever this was, it was bigger than the two of them. But she also knew that letting him back into her life would come at a cost. When she opened her eyes, his gaze was waiting for her, steady and unwavering. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice firm. “We’ll do this. But when it’s over, we’re having a conversation.” A small, relieved smile tugged at his lips. “Deal,” he said. And for the first time in months, Rory felt a flicker of hope. Whatever was coming, they’d face it together. And maybe, just maybe, they’d find a way to mend what had been broken.