Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFW1984ZGYYA3RKHTTPMVW

The smell of curry andstale beer hit Aurora the moment she pushed open the heavy door to her flat above Silas’s bar. Her flat was a cramped, chaotic sanctuary, a single bedroom stacked with books, scrolls, and research notes that spilled onto every surface like a landslide of knowledge. Three deadbolts, each reinforced with a heavy chain, secured the front door, a silent testament to the fear that still clung to her like a second skin. She’d fled Cardiff, not just Evan, but the ghosts of her past, and this flat, above the raucous bar and the pungent curry house, felt like the safest place she’d ever known. The tabby cat, Ptolemy, a sleek, indifferent creature, was sprawled across her worn leather armchair, blinking slowly at the intrusion. “Ptolemy, you’re not helping,” she murmured, stepping inside, the door thudding shut behind her. She’d just finished a late shift delivering for Yu-Fei Cheung’s Golden Empress, the smell of spices still clinging to her clothes. She’d planned a quiet evening: a bath, a book, and maybe some much-needed sleep. Instead, the flat felt suddenly too small, the air thick with the unspoken weight of the past. She’d thought she’d left all that behind when she’d fled Evan, the abusive ex who’d left that crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. But here he was, not Evan, but someone else, someone who’d been part of a different kind of chaos. Lucien Moreau. The name echoed in her mind, a sharp, discordant note. They’d met in the tangled web of London’s supernatural underworld, a world she’d stumbled into while trying to escape her own. He’d been a fixer, impeccably dressed in charcoal suits, speaking four languages with unnerving fluency. He’d helped her, once, but there’d been a cost, a betrayal that still stung. She’d thought she’d seen the last of him when she’d left London for Cardiff, only to return months later, drawn back by Eva’s frantic call about something... something dangerous. Now, he stood on her doorstep, the ivory-handled cane tapping a precise rhythm on the worn wooden step. His platinum blond hair was slicked back, sharp angles framing his face, one amber eye and one black eye fixed on her with unnerving intensity. The scent of expensive cologne, sharp and clean, cut through the curry and beer. He didn’t look like he belonged in this cramped, book-filled flat, but then, he never had. “Aurora,” he said, his voice smooth, low, carrying an accent that was undeniably French. “Or should I call you Rory? Laila? Malphora?” The names rolled off his tongue like a practiced incantation, each one a different facet of her fractured identity. “I know you’re here. Eva told me. She’s worried. About you. About everything.” She didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched him as he pushed the door open wider, letting the cool night air and the distant sound of Silas’s bar chatter seep in. Ptolemy, sensing a stranger, hissed and scrambled off the chair, vanishing under the sofa. The silence stretched, thick and charged, filled only by the distant clang of a pot in the curry house below. “You shouldn’t be here,” she finally said, her voice cool, controlled, though her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. “This isn’t a place for... for your kind.” He chuckled, a low, dry sound. “My kind? Aurora, you know as well as I do that this city is a patchwork quilt of many kinds. Humans, demons, things in between. And you, my dear, are very much a part of it now.” He took a step closer, his polished shoes clicking on the worn floorboards. “You’ve changed. Cardiff suits you, the law degree abandoned, the delivery job. But the fire’s still there. The quick thinking. The... resilience.” He paused, his amber eye studying her, then flicked to the scar on her wrist, a faint, pale crescent moon against her skin. “Evan’s gone, I assume? The abuse ended?” The question hung in the air, sharp and unexpected, cutting through the carefully constructed facade of calm. “He’s gone,” she replied, her voice tight. “He’s irrelevant now.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, to hold it steady. “What do you want, Lucien? Why are you here?” He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he lifted his cane, tapping it lightly against the floor. “I need your help, Rory. Eva’s in trouble. Deep trouble. Something ancient, something... hungry, is stirring in the shadows of this city. Something that even my connections can’t fully grasp. And she’s caught in its path.” The words landed like stones. Eva, her childhood friend, dragged back into the nightmare she’d fled. The ancient hunger, the supernatural threat – it all tied back to the world Lucien inhabited, the world she’d tried to escape. “Why me?” she demanded, the cool mask slipping slightly. “Why not your usual network of informants?” He smiled, a ghost of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Because, Aurora, you’re the only one who can see it. The only one who can navigate the human world and the supernatural with equal ease. You’re the key, the wildcard. And Eva... she’s always been impulsive. She’s dug herself into a hole, and now she needs someone who knows how to climb out.” He took another step, closing the distance between them. The scent of his cologne mingled with the curry, a potent, unfamiliar mix. “I know we parted badly. I know I hurt you. But this... this is bigger than us. Bigger than the past.” His black eye held hers, unwavering. “Can you look past it? For Eva? For London?” The question hung between them, heavy with unspoken history and the weight of the impending danger. The scar on her wrist pulsed faintly, a reminder of the pain she’d endured, but also of her survival. The fire Lucien mentioned still burned within her, a fierce, protective instinct. Eva was in trouble. London was in danger. And Lucien Moreau, the half-demon fixer, was offering a lifeline, however tangled and painful the path might be. The choice wasn’t just about him; it was about everything she’d fought to build, everything she’d lost, and everything she might lose again. The door to her past had opened, and standing on the threshold was the man who’d been part of both the pain and the salvation. The decision, as always, rested with her.