Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ0SMSXE32H1X081DH4KTT

The sharp rap at the door startled them both. Aurora glanced up from the tattered grimoire in her lap, frowning. "You expecting someone?" "No." Eva shook her head, brow creased. "Stay here." Rory watched her friend cross the cluttered flat in a few brisk strides, smooth her dress, and crack open the door. The security chain glinted in the light from the hall. A low voice rumbled, too muffled to catch the words. Eva tensed. Her fingers went white around the door. Knowing the look, Rory eased up off the couch. Pulse quickening. Eva's posture remained rigid. She didn't unfasten the chain. "You shouldn't be here." The voice again, husky, with a faint French lilt. Heart stumbling into a sprint, Rory edged closer. "I told you to stay away from me," Eva hissed. Rory halted mid-step. She knew that voice. Thought she'd never hear it again. A thread of ice wound through her. Eva glanced back. "Rory? Is Lucien...?" A strangled sound punched from her throat. She pivoted. Slam. Eva cranked the deadbolts, shoulders heaving. Seconds stretched. "Rory? Is Lucien who?" "The Frenchman," Rory croaked. "My...the ex." The deadbolts clicked open. Eva undid the chain. Yanked the door wide. Lucien Moreau loomed on the threshold. Charcoal suit immaculate, one hand gripping his ever-present cane. Heterochromatic eyes — one amber, one black — flashed beneath the brim of his hat as they swept the tiny flat. He froze when he caught sight of Rory. "Bonsoir, mon chéri," Lucien drawled. Soft as velvet. She flinched. He only ever called her that in private. Eva recoiled. Swung the door. It crashed into the jamb. Wood splintered. The door smashed open, deadbolts ripping from the frame. Lucien stalked in. Eva stumbled back, eyes wide, until the back of her knees hit the couch. Rory planted herself in front of her friend. Jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. "You're not welcome here." Lucien sauntered around the apartment, skimming shelves, rifling through papers. "Interesting reading material, chérie. You've been doing research, non?" Rory's stomach bottomed out. They'd been careful. How much did he know? She forced her voice steady. "Get out of here before I call the police." "The police?" Lucien sneered. "What would you tell them, ma petite? That your demon ex-lover is making you nervous?" He trailed a finger over her cheek. "I think not." Rory smacked his hand away. "What do you want, Lucien?" "That is between me and chère Eva." He gave her friend a pointed, predatory look. Eva trembled behind her. Ptolemy the tabby cat crouched at her feet, eyes slit, ears flat. Rory's hands balled to fists. "Not happening. Leave. Now." Lucien's lips pulled back in a sharp smile. With a twist of his wrist, he unsheathed the slim blade concealed in his cane. He pressed the tip under her chin. "You are in no position to make demands, chérie. Sit down and stay out of this." Fear lanced through her. But she refused to blink. Refused to let him see. "Always the bully." In her periphery, Eva shifted. Tension crackled in the air. Lucien's gaze dipped to the blade. "Always so defiant. It is good to see that has not changed." Every muscle in her body coiled. "Go to hell." "Ah, but I have already been there, mon chéri. Many times." He caressed her jaw with the flat of the blade. "Now. Sit." Rory jerked her head away. "No." "Rory," Eva whispered. "She will do as I say." Lucien's blade tapped beneath her chin again. A low growl thrummed. Lucien stilled. Eyes narrowed, Rory searched for the sound's source. Ptolemy crouched at the edge of the sofa, ears flat, tail lashing. Hackles raised, green eyes locked on Lucien. "Call off your beast, Eva," Lucien said. "Leave her alone," Eva replied. The growl grew louder.widget The blade lowered an inch. Lucien glanced at the cat. Ptolemy hissed and spat. In one smooth motion, Lucien pivoted. Swung the sword. Rory dove. Hit the floor. Rolled. An agonized yowl split the air. Ptolemy streaked away — straight for Lucien's face. Claws unsheathed. Lucien cursed. Dropped the blade with a clang. He staggered back, a hand swiping at his cheek. Rory snatched up the fallen sword. In the same breath, she lunged. The blade punched into Lucien's chest. He howled. Crumpled to his knees. Ptolemy leapt clear. Teeth gritted, Rory drove the blade deeper. Leaned into it with all her weight. Lucien crumpled sideways. Hit the carpet. Rory hovered over him. Watching. Waiting. A wet, rattling sound came from his lungs. One amber eye stared sightlessly at the ceiling, the other at her. Eva crept up beside her. Trembling fingers pressed to her lips. "Is he...?" Rory held up a hand for silence. Lucien didn't move. Didn't breathe. She prodded his still form with a toe. Throat tight. Nothing. Legs unsteady, she crouched. Eased the sword free. Wiped it clean on his jacket. Only then did she meet Eva's wide-eyed gaze. "I think he is." She cleared her throat. "Dead." Eva stared at Lucien's body for a long beat. Hugged herself. Shivered. Then, she stooped. Picked up Ptolemy. Cradling the cat close, she crossed to the shattered door. Looked back at Rory. Turned away. Two steps into the hall, keys in hand, Eva paused. "Rory...?" She glanced back. "Yeah?" "Thank you." Eva gulped a breath. "For everything." Rory dipped her chin. "Anytime. Just...stay safe out there." Eva crossed the hall. Knocked on a neighbor's door. Rory exhaled. Tight and shaky. She dragged a hand down her face. Still clutching Lucien's sword, she slumped against the wall. Grief, shock, fear, and a hundred other emotions warred for dominance in her chest. Her vision blurred. She sucked in a deep breath. Another. And another. When the urge to cry or scream or both passed, she straightened. Rolled the tension from her shoulders. Surveyed the wreck of Eva's flat. She had a feeling her friend wouldn't be coming back here anytime soon. If ever. Resolved, she crossed to the scattered scrolls and books. Picked one up. She and Eva still had a lot of work to do.