Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR2CHMANNY3K67KTD2B1CP

Aurora Carter hesitated only a second before opening the door. Her hand was steady as she pulled back the chain, then unlocked the three deadbolts with practiced precision. The door swung open, revealing Lucien Moreau—impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that looked tailored for a man who thrived on control. His hair was slicked back, a platinum streak gleaming under the dull glow of the hallway light, and his heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. She barely had time to register his arrival before the air in her tiny flat grew thick, the scent of something both familiar and sharp—cinnamon, maybe, mixed with a faint trace of smoke she couldn’t quite place. Her eyes darted over him, searching. He always looked like he’d stepped straight out of some sleek, dangerous dream. “Lucien,” she said, voice cool, cutting through the stillness. Her arms crossed loosely over her chest, the scar on her wrist itching beneath the fabric of her sleeve. He pushed aside the heavy curtain of shoulder-length black hair that framed his face and held up the ivory-handled cane, its tip tapping softly against the doorframe. “Aurora." His voice was smooth, deliberate, as if savoring the sound of her name. “It’s been a while.” A beat of silence stretched between them. Her eyes flicked past him, into the cramped, cluttered flat behind, books and scrolls spilling over every surface, photos and notes pinned to the walls. An insistent part of her wanted to step aside, to let him in. But old habits held her back, wariness curling in her chest. “Why are you here?” she asked sharply, voice quieter now, wary of revealing too much. Her fingers itched, remembering the day she’d left him, the bitter ache of parting on wounded, tangled terms. Lucien inclined his head, adjusting the grip on his cane. “Let’s not pretend we haven’t missed each other,” he said softly. “I came because I thought I’d find you, and I was right.” Her gaze hardened. “You thought? Or someone told you I was here?” His lips twitched, a hint of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I prefer to think I had a good reason. Besides, I knew you’d be here. Why wouldn’t you be?” “Because I don’t owe you explanations anymore,” she shot back, voice strained but even. Her shoulders tightened, as if bracing for a blow she knew was coming. He took a slow step forward, cane tapping lightly against the floor, a measured rhythm. “Because I need to talk to you. About what happened. About us. About could-have-beens and what’s left in the ashes.” Her breath caught. A thousand words clung to her tongue—all the things she’d kept bottled up since she’d fled Cardiff—yet none escaped. Instead, she shoved the door wider, already tired of this game. “Fine. Come in. But don’t expect me to pretend I haven’t moved on.” He hesitated only briefly, then stepped inside with a quiet confidence, eyes darting around her flat as if committing every detail to memory. His gaze lingered on the worn bookshelves, the cluttered research notes spread across the table, the stray ash of her past life tucked into every corner. “Nice place,” he said, voice detached but tinged with something darker. “A haven for someone trying to outrun ghosts?” Aurora snorted softly, crossing her arms again, “Not enough room for ghosts to haunt me here. Besides, I don’t need you to remind me what I left behind.” Lucien’s lips curled into a faint smile. “No. Nor do I want to reopen old wounds. Just… listen.” His voice softened, and he took another slow step toward her, the cane a subtle presence in his hand. “We had a history—a complicated one. That’s never going to change. But I need to know, after all this time, if there’s still something worth salvaging between us. If you’re willing to hear me out.” Her eyes flickered, the pain beneath her skin flickering just beneath her calm veneer. She looked away briefly, swallowing the ache, and slowly, she lowered her arms. “What do you want, Lucien?” He met her gaze again, eyes darkening. “I want to understand why you left. Why you disappeared without a word, why you cut me out like I was some stranger. And I want to tell you—something that I should’ve said long ago—” The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, the familiar tension between them crackling like static. Her voice was strained, trembling with unspoken emotion. “If you have something to say, then get it out. I’m not here for a reunion. I just… I just want honesty.” Lucien took a breath, and for a moment, his expression softened. “I was reckless. I thought I could handle everything. Demons, shadows, the damn chaos I carry in me—I thought I could control it. But I was wrong. Losing you—” His voice paused, thick with emotion. “It tore me apart more than I wanted to admit. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough back then. And I’m sorry for everything I didn’t say.” Her eyes welled with a strange, stubborn heat. She clenched her fists, feeling her scar at her wrist throb faintly beneath her sleeve. “And what now? You think you can just waltz back in and fix what you broke?” “I don’t think anything,” Lucien said quietly. “But I’d like a chance—maybe just a moment—to make things right, or at least understand what they’re supposed to be now.” The silence between them grew thick and heavy. Outside, the muffled sounds of Brick Lane carried on—the distant hum of voices, the scent of curry drifting up through the thin walls. Ptolemy’s soft paw-steps echoed somewhere in the background, a gentle reminder of the life that persisted beyond their tangled history. Aurora looked at him, lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze was wary but also faintly craving. The ache she’d kept buried since those brittle days in Cardiff resurfaced, blending with something unfamiliar—hope, maybe, or reckless longing. She broke the stare first, turning her back and walking away to lean against the cluttered table. Her voice was low, almost to herself. “You want to talk. Then talk. But don’t expect me to forget everything. Or forgive.” Lucien nodded slowly, cane leaning against the doorframe as he watched her. “I don’t expect that,” he answered softly. “All I want is a chance to start again—however fragile or imperfect it might be.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then pushed away from the table, turning back to him. Her bright blue eyes shimmered with all the ghosts she refused to let out. “Then say what you came to say. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll listen.” He took a step closer, the faintest smile touching his lips. “I missed you.” Her breath hitched, her defenses crumbling just enough. The space between them seemed to shrink, heavy with possibilities and the unspoken weight of time lost and hope yet to be realized. She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she only looked at him—understanding, wariness, longing tangled in her gaze—and wondered if, for once, she could let herself believe in the possibility of something unspoken but desperately desired.