Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQMR3FNH5Z64WBF8F0ED6C

The sound echoed through the small flat—a sharp, insistent rapping against the door that made Aurora Carter's hand freeze midway through turning a page. Three deadbolts. Eva was paranoid about security, a habit Rory had found excessive until she'd moved in after leaving Evan. Now, the multiple locks felt like a necessary barrier between her and the world outside. Another knock, this one more insistent. Rory marked her place in the ancient text Eva had left open on the kitchen table and stood, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from hours of hunched research. Ptolemy, Eva's tabby cat, lifted his head from where he'd been dozing on a stack of books, his green eyes tracking her movement toward the door. "Probably just another delivery," she murmured to the cat, though her voice sounded too loud in the cramped space. "Eva always forgets she's ordered something until it arrives." But as she approached the door, a familiar prickle danced across her skin—that unsettling awareness that sometimes preceded supernatural occurrences. Since she'd learned about London's hidden underworld, that prickle had become an unwelcome but reliable warning system. Her fingers hesitated on the first deadbolt. The rational part of her brain argued that it couldn't possibly be him. Why would he show up here, after all this time? After the way they'd left things? Three deadbolts clicked open in succession, each one releasing with a metallic snap that echoed in the sudden quiet of the hallway beyond. Rory pulled the door inward, and her breath caught in her throat. Lucien Moreau stood in the dimly lit corridor, leaning slightly on his ivory-handled cane. He was dressed, as always, in a tailored charcoal suit that seemed to absorb the weak light around him. His platinum blond hair was slicked back from his face, and his unusual eyes—one amber, one black—fixed on her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. "Rory," he said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that somehow managed to be both familiar and foreign after six months of silence. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything important." She should have slammed the door in his face. She should have screamed, or cried, or thrown one of Eva's heavy research books at his perfectly styled head. Instead, she just stood there, one hand still gripping the doorknob, the other unconsciously rising to touch the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist—a nervous habit she'd developed since childhood. "You're disturbing my peace of mind," she finally managed, her voice steadier than she felt. "What do you want, Lucien?" A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Always direct. That's one of the things I've always admired about you." "And yet you disappeared without a word," she countered, crossing her arms. "Some admiration." He shifted his weight, the silver head of his cane catching the light. "May I come in? There are things we need to discuss. Things that couldn't wait." Rory hesitated, her mind racing. Every surface in Eva's flat was covered with research into supernatural phenomena—evidence of the hidden world Lucien had introduced her to before vanishing from her life. A world she'd been desperately trying to understand without him. The cat chose that moment to weave his way between her legs, letting out a demanding meow. "Fine," she relented, stepping back. "But make it quick. I'm in the middle of something." Lucien entered the flat, his gaze sweeping over the cluttered space with an expression that might have been approval. "Eva's research has grown since I was last here." "You know Eva?" Rory asked, shutting the door and engaging only the first deadbolt—a compromise between security and not wanting him to feel trapped. "We've crossed paths," Lucien replied vaguely. "She's quite dedicated to her studies." He turned to face her fully, and Rory was struck again by the unnatural beauty of him—the sharp angles of his face, the color of his mismatched eyes, the way he seemed to carry an otherworldly grace despite his reliance on the cane. "How have you been, Aurora?" The use of her full name sent a shiver down her spine. He only called her that when he was being serious, or when he wanted to remind her of the power he held—both over her and in the broader supernatural community. "I've been managing," she said, moving toward the small kitchenette. "Tea?" Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Are we at the tea stage of reconciliation already?" "I didn't say anything about reconciliation," she snapped, filling the kettle with more force than necessary. "But it's cold outside, and I'm trying to be civil." "Civil," he repeated, the word hanging between them. "I suppose that's more than I deserve." Rory's hands stilled on the kettle. "Why are you here, Lucien? Really?" He set his cane against the wall and moved closer, the space between them suddenly charged with the memory of what they'd once been to each other. The attraction had been immediate and overwhelming, the hurt that followed equally intense. "There's trouble brewing," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Things that affect both our worlds. I couldn't stay away, not when you might be in danger." Rory laughed, a short, bitter sound. "And it took you six months to remember I might need protecting?" His expression tightened, the amber eye seeming to glow faintly in the dim light. "It's complicated." "It always is with you," she countered, turning to face him fully. "That's the problem, isn't it? Everything with you is complicated, and secret, and dangerous. I thought I could handle it, but I couldn't. I won't." Lucien reached out, his fingers brushing her arm before she could pull away. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her—a reminder that their connection had never been purely intellectual or emotional. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, his gaze intense. "What happened between us... it was real, Aurora. More real than anything I've experienced in a very long time." "Then why did you leave?" she demanded, the question she'd been asking herself for months finally spoken aloud. "Why disappear without a single word?" "Because I was trying to protect you," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "My father's enemies had discovered our relationship. They would have used you against me, and I couldn't let that happen." Rory stared at him, her mind racing. "So you decided what was best for me without consulting me? Just like everyone else in my life has always done?" The kettle began to whistle, shrill and demanding in the small space. Rory turned away to attend to it, her hands trembling as she prepared two mugs of tea. When she turned back, Lucien had moved to the window, looking out at the London street below. "My mother was human," he said softly, his back still to her. "When my father's enemies discovered their relationship, they didn't just kill her. They made her suffer first, to send a message to him about the consequences of loving outside his realm." Rory's breath caught in her throat. "Lucien..." "I couldn't let that happen to you," he continued, finally turning to face her. "But I made a mistake. I underestimated you, and I overestimated the danger. And in doing so, I hurt you more than any enemy ever could." He closed the distance between them, taking her free hand in his. "I'm sorry, Aurora. More sorry than words can express." Rory looked down at their joined hands—his pale against her darker skin, the contrast striking. She remembered all the nights they'd spent together, talking about everything and nothing, the way he'd made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had. And she remembered the devastation when she'd woken up one morning to find him gone, no note, no explanation, just an empty space in her life where he'd been. "Why now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "After all this time?" "Because the danger has passed," he said. "And because I couldn't stay away any longer. Not when there's still so much left unsaid between us." He raised his free hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across her skin. Rory leaned into the touch despite herself, the familiar warmth of it spreading through her body. "There's something I should have told you before I left," he murmured, his eyes searching hers. "Something I was too afraid to admit, even to myself." The kettle continued to steam behind them, Ptolemy watched with feline indifference, and the weight of six months of silence hung in the air between them. Rory waited, her heart pounding, as Lucien leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing hers. "I love you," he whispered, the words finally spoken after months of absence. "I've loved you since the moment we met, and leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done." Tears welled in Rory's eyes, blurring her vision of the half-demon before her—the man who had broken her heart and now stood before her offering it back, piece by piece. "I love you too," she admitted, the words tasting both foreign and familiar on her tongue. "But that doesn't fix everything, Lucien. It doesn't erase the hurt." "I know," he said, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had escaped. "But it's a place to start. If you're willing to try again." Rory looked into his mismatched eyes, seeing the hope and fear reflected there. She thought of her life before him—the mundane existence, the expectations she'd never managed to meet, the emptiness she'd barely acknowledged until he'd shown her there was more to the world than she'd ever imagined. She thought of her life after him—the constant looking over her shoulder, the desperate search for answers in Eva's research, the ache of missing someone who had become so integral to her understanding of herself. And she thought of what her life could be with him—complicated, dangerous, uncertain, but also full of wonder and passion and a love that transcended the boundaries between their worlds. Ptolemy meowed again, as if reminding them of the world outside their moment. Rory let out a small laugh, reaching up to cover Lucien's hand with her own. "One chance," she said firmly. "That's all I'm offering. And if you disappear on me again, I'll hunt you down myself. Half-demon or not." Lucien's smile was genuine this time, reaching both of his unusual eyes. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Aurora Carter." And then his lips were on hers, and for the first time in six months, Rory felt like she was home.