Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFTTVD61525XB2RSN4VGTT

The brass knocker echoed like a gunshot in the cramped hallway. Aurora froze, her hand tightening on the handle of the wok she’d been wiping. Three deadbolts clicked open in sequence, each one a small victory against the world outside. She pushed the door open, expecting the usual delivery driver or a neighbor from the curry house below. Instead, Lucien Moreau stood there, dripping wet from the rain, his platinum hair plastered to his forehead, the ivory-handled cane tucked under his arm. His gaze swept the tiny flat with detached curiosity, landing on her. “Rory,” he said, his voice smooth as aged brandy. “Or should I say, Laila? Or Malphora? The aliases are as numerous as your scars.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click that seemed louder than the rain outside. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, leapt from the stack of occult journals to investigate the intruder, only to retreat with a hiss when Lucien’s amber eye fixed on him. Aurora’s breath hitched. The scar on her left wrist, a faint crescent moon, pulsed faintly under her skin. She crossed her arms, trying to project indifference. “Lucien. To what do I owe the… pleasure?” Her voice was cool, but her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on the clutter of her life—the maps of ley lines pinned to the walls, the half-empty mugs of tea, the worn leather journal open on the coffee table. “I came to return something,” he finally said, pulling a small, velvet-lined box from his tailored charcoal coat. He placed it on the table. “Your mother’s locket. I found it in the ruins of the old library in Paris. Thought you might want it back.” Aurora’s fingers twitched towards the box, but she resisted. “You broke into a library in Paris?” The accusation hung in the air, thick and stale. “I have my ways,” he replied, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “But that’s not why I’m here. I need information.” He leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed, yet radiating an unsettling power. “About the demon cult operating out of the Golden Empress. Your friend Eva mentioned you’ve been digging into their finances.” Aurora’s eyes narrowed. “You’re working for them now?” The words were sharp, cutting through the tension that had always simmered between them. “After everything?” “I’m a fixer, Rory,” he countered, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register. “I take jobs where the pay is good and the rules are flexible. The cult offered me a contract I couldn’t refuse.” He gestured vaguely towards the flat. “This place is a nest of secrets. I need to know who’s feeding them information.” She took a step closer, the scent of curry and old paper filling her senses. “And you think I’d help you? After you disappeared without a word? After…” She couldn’t finish, the memory of his cold eyes and the way he’d walked away from her life like it was nothing twisting her stomach. “I know you’re smart, Rory,” he said, his amber eye holding hers. “You’re the only one who can get past their security. The cult’s ledger is hidden behind a false panel in the library. I can get you in, but you need to get it out. And you need to know…” He paused, searching her face. “I didn’t leave because I stopped caring. I left because I couldn’t let them find you.” Aurora stared at him, the scar on her wrist burning. The attraction, the hurt, the things left unsaid – they swirled together, a dangerous cocktail. “Why now?” she whispered. “Why come back?” He straightened, his posture shifting back to its usual detached elegance. “Because the cult is moving. They’re planning something big, something that could destabilize everything. And I need to stop them. Alone. But I need your help to get the evidence.” He held out his hand, not for hers, but for the locket. “Take it. Consider it a down payment.” Aurora looked from his hand to his face, the rain streaking his cheeks. The world outside was dark and wet, but the tension inside her flat crackled like static. The past was a ghost in the room, and the future was a door she was being forced to open. She took a deep breath, the scent of him – leather, rain, something ancient and dangerous – filling her lungs. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, but steady. “Tell me everything.”