AI The knock came at an ungodly hour, somewhere between midnight and dawn when the city's edges blurred into shadows. Rory stirred from a restless sleep, Ptolemy's weight on her chest making it difficult to breathe. She pushed the cat aside and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
Three sharp raps echoed through the flat, followed by a familiar voice.
"Rory. Open the door."
Lucien. Of course it was Lucien. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she stumbled from bed, bare feet finding the cold floorboards. She grabbed a robe from the chair and tied it hastily, glancing at the clock. 3:47 AM. What could possibly bring him here at this hour?
The peephole revealed his silhouette, tall and lean in a dark coat, platinum hair catching the hallway light. She hesitated, hand on the deadbolt. They hadn't spoken in weeks, not since that disastrous dinner where she'd finally admitted how much his secrets hurt her. He'd listened, that infuriatingly calm expression never wavering , and when she'd finished, he'd simply nodded and said, "I understand," before walking away.
She turned the lock.
Lucien stood in the doorway, soaked from the rain that had started sometime in the early hours. Water dripped from his coat onto the welcome mat. His eyes—one amber, one black—searched her face with an intensity that made her want to step back.
"You're dripping on my mat," she said, the first thing that came to mind.
He smiled, just a slight curve of his lips. "I apologize. May I come in?"
She stepped aside, and he moved past her with that liquid grace she remembered. He shed his coat, revealing a charcoal suit that looked untouched by the weather. How did he do that? Everything about him seemed calculated , from the way he carried himself to the precise angle at which he hung his coat on the rack.
"Coffee?" she asked, heading to the kitchen. It was easier than asking why he was here.
"Please."
The kettle whistled, and she busied herself with mugs and grounds, trying to ignore the way her hands shook slightly . When had it become so difficult to be near him? They'd worked together for months—she delivering packages for his information network, he paying her generously for her discretion. It had been simple. Efficient. Until it wasn't.
"I didn't expect to see you again," she said, keeping her back to him as she poured water over the grounds.
"No. I imagine you didn't."
The words hung between them, heavy with implication . She turned, leaning against the counter, and studied him. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes that she'd never seen before. Whatever had brought him here had cost him something.
"Eva's not here," she said, though she knew he knew that. "She's in Dublin for the week."
"I'm not here for Eva."
The directness of it made her breath catch. She set her mug down carefully . "Then why are you here, Lucien? It's the middle of the night, and we—" She stopped herself from saying they weren't on speaking terms. It felt too petty, too small for whatever this was.
He took a step closer, then another. "I made a mistake. Several, actually. The largest was thinking I could keep certain parts of my life separate from you without consequence."
She laughed, a short bitter sound. "You mean lying to me? Or just omitting the truth?"
"Both. Neither." He ran a hand through his hair, and she noticed it was trembling slightly . "Rory, the world I inhabit—the one you've glimpsed through our work—it's more complicated than you know. There are things about me, about what I am, that I've kept hidden not to hurt you, but to protect you ."
"From what? Yourself?"
He flinched. "Yes. From the reality that someone like me—someone with my heritage, my connections—can never truly be with someone like you without putting them at risk."
The words landed like blows. She'd suspected, of course. The late-night meetings, the coded messages, the way he sometimes disappeared for days without explanation. But hearing him say it aloud, admitting that she wasn't worth the risk—it hurt more than she'd expected.
"Someone like me," she repeated softly . "Meaning what, exactly? Human? Ordinary? Not part of your supernatural underworld?"
"All of that. And none of it." He stepped closer still, until they were nearly touching. "You're the most extraordinary person I've ever met, Rory. Your mind, your courage, the way you see through deception to the truth beneath—it's why I hired you. Why I kept you close. Why I fell in love with you, despite every instinct telling me it was a terrible idea."
Her heart stuttered. "You what?"
"I love you." The words came out rough, almost angry. "I have for months. And every day that I'm near you, I risk exposing you to dangers you can't even imagine. My father, my enemies, the factions that would use you to get to me—"
"Stop." She held up a hand. "Just stop. You don't get to show up here in the middle of the night, confess your love, and then tell me all the reasons it can't work. That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair."
"Neither is love, apparently." She moved around him, needing space, needing air that didn't smell like him, like rain and expensive cologne and something darker underneath. "You want to protect me? Fine. But you should have thought about that before you let me fall for you."
"I didn't let you do anything. You fell despite my best efforts to keep you at arm's length."
"Oh, that's rich. You're the one who started leaving those notes with the deliveries. You're the one who always seemed to know exactly when I'd be working late. You're the one who made me laugh when I wanted to cry, who listened when I talked about my father's cases, who—" She stopped, throat tight. "Who made me believe, even for a moment, that maybe I deserved something good in my life."
He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "And now?"
"Now I don't know what to believe." She sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "I trusted you, Lucien. I let myself care about you, even when my better judgment was screaming at me not to. And you used that. Whether you meant to or not, you used my feelings for you to keep me close, to keep me working for you, to keep me in a world I never asked to be part of."
"That wasn't my intention."
"But it was the result." She looked up at him, standing there like a statue in her tiny living room. "Tell me one thing. Just one. Were any of those late-night conversations real? Or was everything just another way to keep me compliant?"
"Everything was real." He sank to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his. His were cold from the rain. "Every word, every laugh, every moment we shared—it was all real to me. I swear it on my mother's memory."
She searched his face, looking for deception, for the calculated mask he usually wore. But tonight, with exhaustion and emotion stripping him bare, she saw only a man who looked as lost as she felt.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"I don't know." He squeezed her hands. "But I know I can't walk away from you. Not anymore. Not after tonight."
"Because you love me?"
"Because I need you. Because being near you makes me want to be better than I am. Because the thought of you in danger makes me physically ill." He brought her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm not even asking for another chance, not yet. I'm just asking you to let me try to make this right. Let me show you that what we have is worth the risk."
The rain had stopped outside, leaving the city quiet in that strange pre-dawn stillness. Rory looked down at the man kneeling before her—the man who'd turned her world upside down, who'd made her feel things she'd sworn she'd never feel again after Evan, who'd broken her heart even as he'd been trying to protect it.
"Okay," she said finally. "Show me."
He stood, pulling her up with him, and for the first time since he'd arrived, he smiled. It transformed his face, made him look younger, more human. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I haven't decided if this is the smartest decision I've ever made or the stupidest."
"Knowing you, probably both." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a tenderness that made her breath catch. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Here? In my flat? At 4 AM?"
"I'm not leaving you alone tonight. Not after everything." He moved toward the couch. "I'll take the couch. You need rest."
She wanted to argue, but the exhaustion was catching up with her, the emotional rollercoaster of the past hour leaving her drained. "Fine. But if you snore, I'm kicking you out."
"I don't snore."
"Everyone snores."
He smiled again, that devastating smile that made her knees weak. "We'll find out, won't we?"
She retreated to her bedroom, Ptolemy following at her heels. As she changed into sleep clothes, she could hear Lucien moving around in the living room, probably trying to make the couch comfortable . The thought made her smile despite everything.
As she climbed into bed, she realized something. For the first time in weeks, she felt something other than hurt and anger toward Lucien Moreau. She felt hope. It was a fragile, tentative thing, easily shattered . But it was there.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start with.