Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQPPKMS1XTNYMSGRCP26R8

Aurora’s fingers froze on the doorknob. The sharp click echoed through the cramped hallway of Eva’s flat, reverberating against stacks of books and ancient papers piled like precarious towers. She stood just inside the doorway, her breath caught in her chest before she could stop it. The figure in the dim stairwell was unmistakable. Lucien Moreau. His tailored charcoal suit was impeccable as ever, every crease and fold exactly where they should be—impossibly pristine for someone who apparently wandered unannounced into other people's lives. Slicked-back platinum blond hair caught the weak, yellow glow of the corridor light, casting shadows over the sharp lines of a face that had haunted her dreams and waking hours alike. “Rory.” His voice was smooth silk, carried that faint, dangerous lilt of Marseille and a hint of something darker, demonic beneath his calm. Just hearing him, hearing that name with the weight it carried between them, made her chest twist. Her bright blue eyes narrowed, scanning him without hesitation. “What are you doing here, Lucien?” There was no warmth in her voice, just a sharp edge honed by months of distance and wounds left raw. He stepped forward, the soft tap of his dress shoes on the worn linoleum floor a steady rhythm against the silence. The ivory handle of his cane caught the light as he shifted it, casual yet deliberate. “I could ask you the same.” Aurora’s gaze flicked to the ivory-hilted cane he wielded like an extension of himself, a reminder of the sharpness he always kept hidden beneath charm. “I didn’t expect you to knock,” she said flatly. “Or come through Brick Lane without so much as a message. Not after...” Her voice faltered just long enough for the old ache to surface. After everything. Lucien’s one amber eye softened, the black in the other shadowing as if recalling ghosts best left undisturbed. “After Evan? I know how much that hurt you. I never meant to—” “Don’t,” she interrupted, stepping back but not away. The small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist twitched, a childhood accident that reminded her how little control she had over some things. How fragile trust could be. How easily it shattered. “That’s all in the past.” But neither of them believed it. He lingered at the threshold, eyes sharp despite the softness curled beneath. “You don’t owe me an explanation. Not anymore.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and yet it filled the narrow hallway like a summons. “But I need to know why you fled, why you never said goodbye.” Rory swallowed, the tight knot in her throat pulling tight. “Because some things aren’t meant to be repaired by words,” she said, trying to sound stronger than she felt. “You left. You disappeared when I needed you most.” Lucien’s jaw clenched imperceptibly. “I was trying to protect you. From myself.” That was the truth she hadn’t wanted to hear, the reality teased out by his cryptic warnings and absences. Half-demon, half something neither of them fully understood, he carried darkness she was never equipped to fight. “Protecting me means showing up,” she snapped, voice cracking despite herself. “Not vanishing when the world got dangerous. Not leaving me to face everything on my own.” He took a slow, deliberate step closer, the scent of his cologne—old leather and something faintly metallic—rising to meet her. “I thought distance would keep you safe. But it only made things worse.” His gaze dropped for a beat to her left wrist where the scar peeked out beneath the sleeve. The barest brush of fingers would have sent her heart stumbling, but he kept his hands at his sides. Aurora’s breath caught. The moment stretched thin, vibrating with the communication they refused to voice. “Why now?” she finally demanded, her tone brittle but charged with the years of unresolved tension. “Why here, unannounced? Didn’t think I’d moved on? Or that I might have better things to do than relive all this... whatever this is?” Lucien’s amber eye darkened with regret. “Because the past has a way of catching you. No matter how far you run.” His voice dropped to almost a growl of frustration. “There’s something coming, Rory. Something that’s bigger than either of us and it’s deadly. I can’t do this alone." She studied him—laid bare through a veil of years and pain, yet still the same man who’d captivated her with irreverent charm and razor-sharp wit, the same enigma built from shadows and light. She hated how her heart still recognized him, how it fluttered involuntarily like a moth to a flame. “You want me to help,” she said softly, the fight draining out of her. “After all this time, you come asking for favors.” Lucien nodded, a slow, solemn inclination. “Not just favors. I want a partner. Someone I trust.” Her eyes flickered, recalling late-night conversations, stolen moments between chaos, the weight of unspoken feelings. But trust was the hardest thing to rebuild. “What’s in it for me?” Her voice was guarded but not unkind. He smiled then, a slow, crooked smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes. “Redemption? Revenge? Coffee from Yu-Fei’s Golden Empress while we plan our next move?” He gestured toward the faint glow spilling from her little haven, the smell of old paper and the faint spice scent lingering from Eva’s kitchen downstairs. She couldn’t help but let out a reluctant, tired laugh. “Coffee, huh? You really do know me.” “We both need each other, Laila,” he said in that impossibly smooth voice. “More than either of us wants to admit.” Ptolemy, Eva’s tabby, slinked out from beneath the crooked bookshelf and pressed against her leg with a soft purr, breaking the tension. The small creature’s casual acceptance felt like a bridge across the gulf between them. Aurora exhaled slowly, stepping aside with a reluctant nod. “Alright, Lucien. Come in. But one wrong move, and this door shuts for good.” The flicker of hope in his amber eye was the only answer she needed. As he crossed the threshold into the cluttered flat, the past and present collided, and for a suspended heartbeat, the hurt and longing tangled into something fragile—something worth fighting for.