Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMWVB0P35NG911T9ZN7W57F

The deadbolts clicked open one by one, each sound sharp in the narrow hallway. Rory shifted her weight from foot to foot, clutching the takeaway bag from the Golden Empress tighter as she waited. Eva had sounded strange on the phone—distracted, almost frantic—but she'd insisted Rory bring dinner. The door swung open, and Rory's breath caught. Lucien Moreau stood framed in the doorway, his platinum hair perfectly slicked despite the late hour, charcoal suit immaculate as always. The ivory handle of his cane gleamed in the harsh fluorescent light from the curry house below. His mismatched eyes—one amber, one black—fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach clench. "Hello, Aurora." His voice held that familiar French accent, cultured and precise. She'd forgotten how he made her name sound like something precious, the way his tongue caressed each syllable. Three months. It had been three months since she'd last heard him say it. "What are you doing here?" The words came out sharper than she intended. A ghost of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. "May I come in? The hallway is hardly the place for such conversations." Rory glanced past him into Eva's cluttered flat, searching for any sign of her friend. Books and scrolls covered every surface, research notes pinned to the walls in Eva's familiar scrawl. Ptolemy, Eva's tabby cat, wound around Lucien's ankles, purring. "Where's Eva?" "Called away on urgent business. She asked me to wait for you." He stepped aside, gesturing with his cane toward the interior. "The food smells delicious, by the way. Yu-Fei's spring rolls?" She didn't move. Couldn't. The last time they'd been alone together, she'd walked away from him in a haze of hurt and confusion, his words still ringing in her ears. You don't understand what you're asking of me, Aurora. What it would cost. "She didn't mention you'd be here." "Eva has always been... selective with information." His amber eye caught the light as he tilted his head. "Rather like someone else I know." Heat flashed through her. "Don't." "Don't what? Tell the truth?" He moved closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, more dangerous. "You disappeared, Aurora. One day you were there, and the next..." He paused, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Nothing." "You made your position clear." She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze despite the way her pulse hammered against her throat. "I wasn't going to beg." "Beg?" The word came out rough, surprised. "Is that what you think I wanted?" Ptolemy meowed, a demanding sound that broke the tension. Lucien glanced down at the cat, then back at her, something shifting in his expression. "Please. Come inside. The neighbors are already curious enough about Eva's visitors." Against her better judgment, Rory stepped across the threshold. The familiar chaos of Eva's flat surrounded her—towers of books on demonology, Celtic mythology, and theoretical magic; scrolls covered in symbols she couldn't read; the lingering scent of jasmine incense and old paper. It should have been comforting, but with Lucien's presence filling the small space, everything felt charged, electric. She set the takeaway bag on the only clear spot on Eva's kitchen counter, hyperaware of Lucien's movements behind her. The soft tap of his cane against the hardwood floor. The whisper of expensive fabric as he settled into Eva's worn armchair. "You cut your hair," he said quietly. Her hand moved instinctively to the shoulder-length black strands, shorter now than when they'd last seen each other. "It was getting in my way." "Pity. I always loved how it looked when you wore it down." The casual intimacy in his voice made her chest tight. She turned to face him, crossing her arms. "Why are you really here, Lucien? And don't say Eva asked you to wait. She has three deadbolts on that door for a reason." He studied her for a long moment, his fingers tracing the ivory handle of his cane. "There's been activity in the underground markets. Someone's asking questions about you." Ice settled in her stomach. "What kind of questions?" "The dangerous kind." He leaned forward, amber and black eyes intense. "Eva thinks it might be connected to the incident at the warehouse. The one you've been so determined to forget." "I haven't forgotten anything." "No?" He stood smoothly, crossing to where she stood by the counter. Close. Too close. "Then you remember what happened between us that night. What you felt." Her breath caught. She did remember—the way he'd looked at her after they'd escaped the warehouse, blood on his shirt, something wild and desperate in his mismatched eyes. The moment when the careful distance he always maintained had cracked, just for an instant. The kiss that had tasted of danger and promises she wasn't sure either of them could keep. "That was adrenaline," she said, but her voice came out too soft, too breathless. "Was it?" He reached out, fingers brushing the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. The touch was featherlight, but it sent heat racing up her arm. "Because I've replayed that night a thousand times, and adrenaline doesn't explain the way you said my name when I—" "Stop." She pulled her hand away, but not before she saw the flash of hurt that crossed his features. "We can't do this, Lucien. You know we can't." "Because of what I am?" "Because of what you do." The words tumbled out, months of frustration and longing bleeding through. "You deal in secrets and favors and debts that people pay with their souls. You disappear for weeks without explanation. You live in shadows and half-truths, and I..." She took a shaky breath. "I can't love someone I can never fully trust." The word hung between them, raw and honest. Love. She hadn't meant to say it, but there it was, the truth she'd been running from for months. Lucien went very still. "Aurora—" "Don't." She turned away, staring at Eva's collection of ancient texts without seeing them. "Just tell me about these questions. Who's asking them?" For a moment, she thought he might push. Might close the distance between them and force her to confront what she'd just admitted. But when he spoke again, his voice had returned to its usual controlled cadence. "A woman. Expensive taste, foreign accent. She's been very generous with her coin." He paused. "She wanted to know about your connection to the supernatural world. Whether you had any... unusual talents." Rory's blood chilled. She turned back to face him, seeing her own fear reflected in his heterochromatic gaze. "Eva thinks she might be connected to your ex," he continued quietly. "This Evan you've been so careful not to discuss." The takeaway bag crinkled as her hands clenched into fists. "That's impossible. Evan doesn't know about any of this. He's just a..." She trailed off, remembering the way Evan's eyes had sometimes seemed too knowing, too hungry. The strange accidents that had happened to people who'd crossed him. The feeling she'd had, near the end, that she was living with a stranger. "Just a what, Aurora?" She met Lucien's gaze, seeing the careful way he was watching her, the protective tension in his shoulders despite everything between them. "I don't know," she admitted. "And that scares me more than I want to admit." Ptolemy jumped onto the counter between them, breaking the spell. Lucien reached out to scratch behind the cat's ears, his movements gentle, automatic. She'd forgotten that about him—how surprisingly tender he could be when he thought no one was looking. "Stay with me tonight," he said without looking up from the cat. "My flat is warded. Safer." "Lucien—" "As allies," he clarified, though something in his voice suggested the word tasted bitter. "Nothing more. But I won't have you facing this alone, regardless of what's between us." She wanted to say yes. God, she wanted to say yes. But that way lay madness, heartbreak, a return to the push and pull of wanting someone she could never fully have. "I can take care of myself." "I know you can." He finally looked up, and the raw honesty in his expression nearly undid her. "But you shouldn't have to."