Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ0DX6FS4WJRP9BYHMD54M

I slam the last deadbolt home and lean against the flat door, exhausted. The raised voices from the curry house below filter through the floorboards, mixing with the smell of cumin and turmeric that's always lingering in this old building. I toss my helmet onto the worn-out sofa, dislodging a stack of books about the history and architecture of Marseille. They scatter across the cushion, paper edges bent. A knock sounds at the door. My eyes narrow. It's almost midnight — too late for a delivery, and none of my few friends would show up unannounced. I creep towards the door, listening. Another knock, more insistent. "Rory? Open up, it's me, Lucien." My heart stutters. Lucien Moreau, the last person I expected to hear from again after our disaster of a parting six months ago in Marseille. I haven't been able to shake his piercing amber and black eyes from my dreams since. I undo the locks, pulse quickening, and pull open the door. Lucien leans against the jamb, one hand gripping his ivory-caned sword, the other palming a cigarette. Silver-gold hair gleams under the flickering hallway light. His tailored charcoal suit drapes perfectly over his toned frame. "Long time no see," he drawls, exhaling smoke through his teeth. I cross my arms, cocking a hip. "I could say the same. What brings you to my doorstep in the dead of night, Luc?" He steps inside without waiting for an invite, his clean scent washing over me as his shoulder brushes my arm, making me shiver despite myself. I shut the door behind him. "I've come to propose a truce," Lucien says, "and a collaboration." "Is that so?" I ask, keeping my tone light even as my mind races. "And what might that entail?" Lucien taps ash into an empty teacup on the cluttered coffee table. "I need your help, Rory. There's a.........Marseilles. The magister's amulet is the key to restoring balance, but I can't get to it without you." I arch a brow, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. "Flattering, but why should I help you after what happened before?" He flinches almost imperceptibly at the reminder before his suave mask slides back into place. "What happened before was...unavoidable. But this is bigger than us. The veil between realms is thinning." I rub my temples, considering. Lucien wouldn't show up out of the blue unless things were dire. And while I'd never admit it aloud, the idea of working with him again sparks a thrill deep in my core. "Let's talk specifics," I say, leading him over to my cramped kitchen nook. The sharp scent of smoke clung to Lucien's wool suit as he leaned a hip against the countertop, vivid gaze tracking my movements. "Your instincts were right about the relics. They're keys to tapping into the realms' power." He pulls a yellowed map of Marseille from his jacket's inner pocket and spreads it on the chipped tile. "The amulet is in the catacombs, protected by the magister's wards." I trace a finger along a red 'x' marking the spot. "Wards I'm betting you can't break." Lucien's full lips quirk. "You'd win that bet. But you, with that clever mind of yours..." He reaches out, his knuckles grazing my cheek, sending electricity zinging along my nerves. I swallow hard, pulse fluttering. "And my payment?" He smirks. "Help me secure the amulet, and I'll owe you a favor." His amber eye flashes molten gold in the dim light. Damn him, I want that. A favor from a well-connected half-demon could come in handy. And maybe...maybe this could be an olive branch between us. A way to rebuild after the wreckage of our last collaboration. "Fine," I hear myself saying. "You've got yourself a deal, Luc." His slow, wicked grin sends a shiver up my spine. "Excellent." He steps into me, my breasts brushing his chest. I tip my chin up defiantly to meet his eyes. His hand drifts up, fingers tangling in my hair. The air crackles between us. "I've missed you, ma chérie," he murmurs, thumb caressing my jaw. My lids flutter. "I...missed you too," I admit. "But this is strictly business, got it?" Lucien's smile turns sly. "Of course." Then he leans in and captures my mouth with his own. I forget to breathe, toes curling. He kisses like he does everything — with confident, practiced ease that leaves you dizzy. And I feel it...the thrum of energy, that uncanny awareness that's always hummed between us. I wind my arms around his neck, yanking him closer, forgotten promises of keeping this professional evaporating like smoke. His cane clatters to the floor and he hoists me up onto the kitchen counter, hands greedily roaming my back, my hips, kneading, caressing. "So this is what you call strictly business, hmm?" I tease breathlessly against his lips, nipping his bottom one. He chuckles, a sexy, dark sound. "I'm a businessman. I never mix business with pleasure." Then his mouth is on me again, hot and hungry, and I know I'm in trouble.