Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR78TFGKTGVEA89WXGF4A8

Aurora Carter had just set her laptop aside, the quiet hum of the air conditioner filling the stillness of the flat above Silas’ bar. Her bright blue eyes lingered on the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist beneath the soft glow of the desk lamp. Outside, London pulsed on, indifferent to the fragile peace she had finally carved out for herself. Then the doorbell shattered the silence, sharp and insistent. Frowning, Rory rose, smoothing the creases in her dark jacket. Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones. She crossed the narrow hallway of her flat, her footsteps muffled on the faded rug, and peered through the peephole. An unexpected sight: the figure standing in the dim glow of the corridor — Lucien Moreau. Her breath hitched. The Frenchman, that piercing blend of amber and black eyes, slicked-back platinum blond hair, and tailored charcoal suit that seemed always tailored to perfection. The man who had once been a knot of tangled emotions in her chest, now just a knot that ached. What was he doing here? Cautiously, she unlatched the chain and opened the door a crack, enough to slip her head through but not enough to invite him inside. “Lucien,” she said, voice steady but low, as if speaking loud might break the fragile barrier between them. “What are you doing here?” He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his cane tapping silently but with deliberate confidence on the aged wooden floor. His heterochromatic eyes — one amber, one obsidian — studied her, calm yet intense. “I need to talk to you, Rory,” he said, using that nickname like it was a balm and a blade all at once. Her heart slammed against her ribs, but her expression remained composed. “You know I’m not really in the habit of welcoming unannounced guests, especially not when you have a history of—” “Complicated,” he finished for her, a faint, rueful smile curving his lips. “Yes. I know.” The flat smelled faintly of old books and the sharp, comforting aroma of Yu-Fei’s takeout left on the counter—salt, soy, and ginger weaving into one. Rory took a tentative step back, silently inviting him further in, wariness flickering in her gaze. Lucien didn’t move past the threshold immediately. His hand reached out briefly, almost touching the door frame, as if steadying himself against a tide of memories. “I didn’t come to fight,” he said, voice low, the catch of a thousand unspoken regrets threading through it. “I came because I realized—I’d been wrong to disappear the way I did.” The weight of his words hit her harder than she expected. She swallowed, blinking away the sudden sting behind her eyes. “You just vanished,” Rory said, the accusation bitter but laced with something softer, something that made her voice tremble. “Without a word. Left me to pick up the pieces.” Lucien’s gaze dropped for a fraction, and in that brief moment, she saw a flicker of something raw, maybe even pain. “There were things I couldn’t explain,” he confessed. “Things I had to deal with. But that’s no excuse for how I left you.” Her arms crossed, a shield she hadn’t intended to raise so quickly. “You were my closest friend once. I trusted you.” “And I broke that trust,” he admitted, stepping carefully now, his footsteps measured, echoing off the cramped walls stacked with books and scattered notes. “I’m sorry for that.” Rory’s gaze flicked to a tabby cat slinking cautiously from beneath the table, tail high and curious. “Ptolemy still remembers you,” she said, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. Lucien crouched slightly to scratch behind the cat’s ears. “And I suppose that means I’m already halfway forgiven?” She laughed, a sound brittle but genuine. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He straightened, stepping closer to the heart of the flat, the tension between them charged and nearly tangible. His amber eye caught the light in a way that made her pulse catch, just like old times. “Why now?” Rory asked, voice lowering, the question hanging heavily between them. “After all this time.” “Because you matter,” he said simply. “Because I realized that no matter what else happens in my life, I want you to be part of it. I don’t want to lose you again.” Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. She had been strong once; she could be strong again. But the words caught in her throat. “You hurt me, Lucien,” she whispered. “It’s not that easy.” “No, it’s not,” he agreed, voice thick with honesty. “I know. And I’m ready to do whatever it takes.” The silence stretched, the air heavy with all the things left unsaid—regrets, hopes, fears tangled together. Finally, Rory took a step forward. “Then start by staying. Don’t run away this time.” Lucien’s half smile was slow, warm, and real. “I’m not going anywhere.” They stood there a moment longer, the cat weaving between their legs, the night outside folding quietly around the promise of a new beginning.