Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQP9D5VXWABPTYHPBHHS6R

The third deadbolt slid back with a heavy, metallic clunk that echoed too loudly in the narrow hallway. Aurora paused with her hand still on the chain, her breath hitching in a throat suddenly gone dry. She knew the rhythm of those locks. She had installed two of them herself. But she did not expect the person standing on the other side when she finally swung the door open. Lucien Moreau stood on the landing, rain dripping from the brim of an umbrella he hadn't bothered to shake. He looked exactly as he had six months ago, and entirely different. The charcoal suit was tailored to within an inch of its life, hugging shoulders that seemed broader than she remembered. His platinum blond hair was slicked back, revealing the sharp architecture of his face, but it was his eyes that pinned her to the spot. The amber one caught the dim hallway light like polished honey; the black one swallowed it whole. Rory, Eva's friends called her. Lucien had called her many things, none of them safe. You look well, he said. His voice was a low rumble, flavored by the faintest trace of Marseille that never quite faded despite years in London. Aurora tightened her grip on the doorframe. Her left wrist throbbed, a phantom ache in the small crescent scar hidden beneath her sleeve. You cannot be here, Lucien. The smell of frying onions and cumin drifted up through the floorboards, the perpetual scent of the curry house below seeping into every curtain and cushion in Eva's cramped one-bedroom flat. It was a comforting smell, usually. Now it just made her feel nauseous. I needed to see you, Lucien said. He shifted his weight, the ivory handle of his cane clicking against the linoleum. Concealed within that elegant wood was a blade sharp enough to split a hair. She knew that better than anyone. You needed to see me, or you needed to warn me? Aurora asked. She kept her voice level. Cool-headed was her survival mechanism, the shield she had forged during law lectures at Cardiff and sharpened during the nights she spent running from Evan. She would not break it now. Lucien's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. Is there a difference? Yes. One implies you care. The other implies I'm a liability. She should have slammed the door. She should have engaged the chain, called Eva, called anyone. But her feet remained rooted on the welcome mat that said Home Sweet Home in ironic block letters. Behind her, the flat was a chaos of research notes and scrolls spread across every available surface. Eva's obsession with the supernatural had become Aurora's burden since she fled to London. A tabby cat wound itself around Aurora's ankles. Ptolemy let out a demanding meow, rubbing his head against her shin. Even the beast remembers me, Lucien noted. He took a half-step forward. The hallway was narrow, barely wide enough for one person, let alone a half-demon fixer with a presence that seemed to suck the air out of the corridor. Ptolemy likes anyone who isn't trying to kill me, Aurora said. She glanced down the stairwell. Empty. Good. Come in. Before someone sees you. Lucien didn't move immediately. He studied her, those mismatched eyes tracking over her face, her straight shoulder-length black hair, the tension in her jaw. He was looking for cracks. He always looked for cracks. Finally, he stepped over the threshold. Aurora closed the door and began the ritual of the locks. Click. Click. Click. Three deadbolts to keep the world out. When she turned, Lucien was standing in the middle of the room, navigating the minefield of books and papers with the grace of a dancer. You are living in a library, he observed, running a gloved finger along the spine of a grimoire bound in what looked like scaled leather. I am staying here. Temporarily. Aurora moved to the small kitchenette, needing something to do with her hands. She filled the kettle. It was a stalling tactic and they both knew it. Temporarily has a way of becoming permanent in our line of work, Lucien said. He turned to face her, leaning lightly on the cane. Why did you leave, Rory? We covered this. We covered the logistics. We did not cover the why. Aurora leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. The movement pulled her sleeve up, exposing the pale skin of her wrist. Lucien's gaze dropped to the scar there. His expression softened, just for a fraction of a second, before the mask slid back into place. I left because you are dangerous, Lucien. I left because every time I stand next to you, I feel the pull of Avaros trying to drag me under. I am human. I deliver noodles for the Golden Empress. I do not broker deals with demons. You are far more than a delivery person, and you know it, he said softly. You walked away from a law degree. You walked away from your parents in Cardiff. You walked away from me. Because Evan was abusive, not because of you. But you ran to me first. The kettle began to whistle, a shrill scream that shattered the tension. Aurora turned her back on him to pour the water. Her hands were shaking. She hated that he could see it. She hated that he knew her tells better than she knew them herself. When she turned back with two mugs, Lucien had moved closer. He was within arm's reach now. She could smell him over the curry scent—rain, old paper, and something metallic, like ozone before a storm. I did not come here to fight, he said. Then why did you come? Because the things hunting you are no longer content to wait. He reached out, his hand hovering near her arm. He did not touch her. He never touched her without permission. That was the thing that had broken her heart. The restraint. The knowledge that he could take whatever he wanted, but he waited for her to offer it. Eva says you have been asking about the artifact, Aurora said. Eva talks too much. Eva cares. As do I. The words hung in the air, heavy and unadorned. Aurora looked up into those heterochromatic eyes. The amber one was warm, human. The black one was void, infinite. They were the eyes of a man straddling two worlds, belonging to neither. You left me at the bar, Lucien. You walked out into the rain and didn't look back. I thought it was what you wanted. Safety. Distance. It was what I asked for. It was not what I wanted. Lucien exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sigh. He set the cane against the table, the ivory handle gleaming in the low light. He took the mug from her hand and set it down on a stack of papers without looking. Then he took her hand. His palm was warm, rougher than it looked. His thumb brushed over the crescent scar on her wrist. I am not asking for forgiveness, Aurora. I am asking for a chance to finish what we started. There is no us, she whispered, though she did not pull away. There has always been an us. Even when you were in Cardiff and I was in Marseille. Even now, with three deadbolts between us and the rest of London. Ptolemy jumped onto the table, knocking a scroll to the floor. Neither of them looked down. The city hummed outside, the traffic on Brick Lane a constant river of noise, but in the cramped flat, surrounded by Eva's research and the smell of spices, the silence was absolute. Aurora looked at the hand holding hers. She thought about the delivery bag waiting by her door, the shift at the Golden Empress she was due to start in an hour. She thought about the law degree she had abandoned, the father who wanted her to be a barrister, the ex who had taught her that love could be a cage. Then she looked at Lucien. The ally who had become something more. The danger that felt like safety. One hour, she said. Her voice was steady again. The cool-headed strategist was back in control. You have one hour to explain why you are here. Then you leave. Lucien smiled, and this time it reached both eyes. One hour is all I need. He did not let go of her hand. Aurora did not ask him to. Outside, the rain began to fall harder against the window, washing the grime of London from the glass, but inside, the air was still, waiting to see what would burn first.