Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ07VFCMPZM7RSZF49SAXA

The door swung open before Lucien could knock a second time. Rory stood there, her black hair damp from a recent shower, a faded Cardiff University hoodie swallowing her frame. The scent of jasmine tea curled from the flat behind her. "Lucien." Her voice was flat. "It's three in the morning." He adjusted his grip on the ivory cane, the blade inside whispering against its sheath. "I know what time it is." Ptolemy, Eva's tabby, wound between Rory's ankles, tail flicking. She didn't step aside. "You can't just show up here. Not after—" "Not after I walked away?" He leaned against the doorframe, the amber of his left eye catching the dim hallway light. "You made it clear you didn't want me around." Rory's fingers tightened on the door. "That's not fair." "Neither was you telling me to leave." His jaw set. "But here we are." A beat. The curry house below leaked the scent of cumin and garlic into the tension between them. Rory exhaled through her nose, then stepped back. "Fine. But you're not staying long." Lucien followed her inside, the three deadbolts clicking shut behind him. The flat was exactly as he remembered—books stacked on every surface, scrolls pinned to the walls, a half-empty mug of tea gone cold on the coffee table. He set his cane against the armchair, the ivory handle gleaming. Rory crossed her arms. "What do you want?" "You." The word hung between them, raw and unfiltered. Her breath hitched. "Don't." "I didn't come here to play games." He took a step closer, the heat of his half-demon blood warming the space between them. "I came because I can't stop thinking about you. About us." Rory's bright blue eyes flashed. "There is no *us*. Not after you left." "I left because you asked me to." His voice dropped, rougher now. "Because you looked at me like I was the problem." She turned away, her shoulder-length hair swinging. "You *were* the problem. You still are." Lucien reached for her, his fingers brushing the crescent scar on her wrist. She flinched but didn't pull away. "Then why does it still hurt when I'm not here?" Rory spun back, her chest rising and falling too fast. "Because you don't get to do this. You don't get to show up in the middle of the night and act like nothing happened." "I'm not acting like nothing happened." He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "I'm acting like I made a mistake." She shoved him back, her palms flat against his chest. "A mistake? You called me *reckless*." "And you called me *cold*." His hands fell to his sides. "We both said things we didn't mean." Rory's laugh was sharp. "I meant every word." Lucien's heterochromatic eyes darkened. "Then why did you kiss me back?" Silence. The hum of the fridge filled the space between them. Rory's lips parted, but no sound came out. He closed the distance again, his voice low. "Why did you let me touch you like you'd die if I stopped?" Her breath came faster. "Because I was stupid." "Or because you wanted it as much as I did." His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head up. "Because you still do." Rory's hands fisted in his suit jacket. "This changes nothing." "Then push me away." His mouth hovered over hers, close enough to feel her exhale. "Tell me to leave again." She didn't. Instead, her fingers tightened, pulling him closer. The first brush of their lips was hesitant, like neither of them trusted it. Then Rory made a sound—half frustration, half relief—and kissed him like she'd been drowning. Lucien's hands slid to her waist, lifting her onto the kitchen counter. The mug of tea rattled, forgotten. Rory broke away, her breath ragged. "We can't keep doing this." Lucien's lips trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse. "Doing what?" "Pretending it's simple." She arched into him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Pretending we don't destroy each other." He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Maybe we do. But I don't care anymore." Rory's laugh was shaky. "You should." Lucien kissed her again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world. "Too late." The counter dug into Rory's back, but she didn't care. His hands were everywhere—skimming under her hoodie, tracing the line of her spine, pulling her flush against him. She should stop this. She *should*. But the way he kissed her, like she was the only thing that mattered, made her forget why she ever tried. Lucien's mouth moved to her ear. "Tell me to stop." Rory's nails scraped down his back. "Shut up." He grinned against her skin, then lifted her off the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her toward the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them. The last thing she saw before the world narrowed to just the two of them was Ptolemy watching from the hallway, tail flicking in judgment.