Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQQERB3XX5HNF5JASTDCHP

The door clicked open under her thumb. In the narrow threshold of her flat—perched above Silas’ bar, its spilled-beer tang drifting up through the floorboards—stood Lucien Moreau. His polished Oxfords scraped against the worn welcome mat, charcoal suit pressed to perfection, platinum-blond hair gleaming beneath the dim hallway light. Aurora’s heart hesitated, blood pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it. One amber eye and one inky-black regarded her evenly, as though measuring every inch of her in a single, unhurried breath. She froze, the bag of takeout slipping from her grip, cardboard tumbling. A half-demon in human skin, yes, but first and always the man who’d vanished without a word. He’d left her with empty nights and questions that throbbed like her scarred wrist whenever she saw a shadow move too quickly. Lucien shifted the cane in his hand, ivory handle catching the light. “Aurora,” he said, voice low and smooth, riding a faint French lilt. “I need to talk to you.” Her throat seared. “You need to talk to me?” She picked the bag back up as if it might protect her, crushed under her unforgiving grip. “You need to talk? After disappearing for months?” A flicker passed across his face—regret, she thought, though she would never admit it out loud. He stepped forward half a pace, and the hallway felt smaller, charged. “I couldn’t risk dragging you into something… dangerous.” She pulled back, leaning against the doorframe. The scratch of wood against her slender shoulder, the hum of Silas’ bar below punctuating every heartbeat. “Dangerous? You vanished. No call, no message. Just… gone.” His jaw clenched; a single muscle jumped at the angle of his cheek. “I thought I was protecting you.” “Oh.” Her laugh tasted bitter. She remembered nights curled around her phone, waiting. “By leaving me with nothing but suspicion?” Lucien’s amber eye softened. “I’m sorry.” An apology, finally. Her pulse fluttered between anger and relief—two birds trapped in her chest. “Sorry doesn’t fix months of silence.” He cradled the cane’s handle in both hands, the blade hidden but never forgotten. “I know. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to show you.” Her breath hitched at the promise in his voice. Years of careful distance fell away in a single moment, and she wondered how she’d managed to stand so tall when the threat of losing him felt as familiar as the small, crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. She flexed her hand reflexively, skin pulling taut over the old indentation. He noticed. His gaze drifted to the glimpse of pale flesh where her sleeve had ridden up. “Your scar,” he said softly, “I never stopped thinking about it.” She snapped her sleeve down, exhaling too sharply. “Is that all you’ve been thinking about?” His black eye—sharp as a crow’s wing—haloed with a flicker of pain. “No.” He ran a hand through his hair, platinum strands falling loose at his temples. “I’ve made a mess of things. I’m here to clean it up. But first, may I come in?” Aurora’s fingers curled around the doorframe. The hallway light cast his sharp features in relief—high cheekbones, a sloping throat, and the faint sheen of tension in his skin. Behind him, the narrow corridor stretched empty, oblivious to their shared history. She wanted to slam the door, wanted to push him away, but every fiber of her wanted to know why he’d come back. “Fine,” she snapped, stepping aside. He entered with the grace of someone accustomed to velvet rooms and whispered confidences, though this living room was lit by a single lamp, its shade stained and soft. He removed his overcoat and draped it over the back of a battered armchair, revealing the crisp lines of his tailored jacket. The flat smelled of old wood and curry—remnants of a night when she had ordered too much takeout and forgotten to call someone she wished was here. Aurora guided him into the center of the room. Bookshelves sagged under law textbooks and thick volumes on criminal procedure—remnants of her abandoned pre-law dreams. A single box of takeout, long cold, sat on the coffee table. She motioned toward the couch, an invitation or a challenge she couldn’t decide. Lucien sank onto the edge of the cushion, the fabric sighing under his weight. He placed the cane between his knees. “You look… tired.” She crossed her arms. “I’m always tired. London, part-time shifts at the Golden Empress, babysitting Silas’s tipsy regulars when he’s slammed. You have no idea.” He studied her bright-blue eyes—so much fierceness in those eyes—and reached out, resting his fingertips over her forearm. The brush of his skin set her nerves alight. She jerked away, but he held his ground. “Please,” he said, voice rougher now. “Let me make it right.” She stared at his hand lingering in the air, the gentle curve of his fingers. She thought of the nights she’d thrown herself into work to forget the hollow ache of his absence, to drown it in spicy noodles and overtime. “How?” she asked, voice barely above a breath. He exhaled, as if shedding a weight she hadn’t known he carried. “I tracked you here because you’re in danger.” Her heart lurched. Danger. The word slithered down her spine. She swallowed, tasting sweat. “What kind of danger?” He rose, pacing toward the window overlooking the neon bar signs below. His silhouette stretched tall, the suit jacket hugging his shoulders. “My world… rubs against yours more than I thought. There are people hunting me, Aurora. I feared they’d trace me to you. I should have told you sooner, but I wasn’t sure you’d believe me.” She stepped forward, propelled by a mix of outrage and worry. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?” He turned, gaze sweeping the cramped room, the scattered books she’d used to barricade her past. “Because I wasn’t there.” He took a breath. “I’m half-demon. I thought keeping you in the dark would keep you safe. Instead, I left you alone.” Silence stretched between them. Music drifted up from the bar below, a Beatles cover sung off-key. Aurora’s breath slowed, her anger shifting into something rawer. “You chose to leave,” she whispered. He nodded, pain sharpened in his eyes. “I did. And I’m sorry.” She closed the distance, words tangling in her throat. He smelled of rain on cobblestones, old leather, and something elusive she recognized from the moment they met. She reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with a trembling finger. He leaned into the touch, tilting his head just so. His amber eye glowed softly in the half-light. “I missed you,” she admitted, voice catching. He dropped to one knee before her, cane sliding from sight. He pressed her hand against his cheek, thumb brushing the faint pulse at her wrist. “I missed you every day.” She stared down at him, heart pounding like a drum. All the walls she’d built around her heart shuddered. When he rose, he took her free hand, lifting it to his lips. His kiss was gentle, a promise and a plea. Her breath caught. The scar on her wrist pressed against his palm as he folded her fingers around his. She felt the cool ivory of his cane beneath her other hand, the barrier between them slipping away. “I don’t know if we can—” she began, voice tight. “But I do,” he interrupted, his voice all fervor. “I know that I belong here, now, with you. If you’ll let me.” She closed her eyes, leaning into the warmth of his suit jacket, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under her palm. The bar noise faded. The flat, with its clutter of books and cold noodles, felt like home. She lifted her other hand, brushing it over his cheek, noting the fine line of a scar she’d never noticed before. “Show me,” she whispered. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I will.” Outside, the neon glow of London blinked on. Inside, she let the door swing closed behind them, and for the first time in a long time, she believed in new beginnings.