Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ2D41WM7ZRMVQZ90B0ZFZ

Rory's spoon clinked against her mug as she stirred honey into her tea. Rain drummed steadily against Eva's kitchen window, a comforting soundtrack to the quiet afternoon. Eva was out chasing down some rare book, leaving Rory alone with Ptolemy, who watched her from his perch on the windowsill with that particular feline intensity that suggested he was either plotting her demise or hoping for a treat. "Don't look at me like that," she muttered. "Eva said no human food for you after the last vet visit." The tabby blinked slowly, clearly unimpressed by this reasoning. Three rapid knocks at the door broke the stillness, causing Rory to slosh tea over the rim of her mug. She wasn't expecting anyone, and Eva never forgot her keys. Ptolemy's ears flattened slightly. "Relax," she told the cat, though her own pulse had quickened. "Probably just a delivery." She padded across the book-strewn living room, navigating around teetering stacks of grimoires and scrolls. The flat always looked like a library after an earthquake, but Eva insisted there was a system to the chaos. Another three knocks, more insistent this time. "Coming!" She reached for the first of the three deadbolts, then the second, then paused at the third. "Who is it?" "Someone who doesn't appreciate standing in the rain, chérie." The voice froze her hand mid-turn. That smooth French accent, the casual endearment that always sounded both sincere and mocking. She closed her eyes briefly, memories cascading through her mind: whispered confidences over expensive wine, the brush of his fingers across her wrist, the hollow feeling when he'd walked away. Rory unlatched the final deadlock and pulled the door open. Lucien Moreau stood in the narrow hallway, water dripping from his platinum hair onto the shoulders of his impeccably tailored charcoal suit. His ivory-handled cane hung from one wrist as he ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, displacing droplets that caught the dim hallway light. "Aurora." His mismatched eyes—one amber, one black—assessed her with quiet intensity. "You look well." "What are you doing here?" She kept her grip tight on the door, not quite inviting him in. "Eva's out." "I didn't come to see Eva." He leaned slightly on his cane, the movement so subtle it might have been missed by someone who hadn't spent months cataloging his every gesture. The scent of his cologne—something expensive with notes of cedar and bergamot—mingled with the petrichor from the rain. Rory hated how familiar it was, how it tugged at something in her chest. "I don't recall inviting you." She didn't move from the doorway. Lucien's mouth curved into a half-smile. "And yet here I stand." He glanced past her into the flat. "May I come in, or would you prefer I deliver my news to the entire building?" A door opened down the hall, and Mrs. Patel from 3B peered out curiously. Rory stepped back with a sigh. "Fine." He brushed past her, close enough that she caught another waft of that maddening cologne. She shut the door behind him, sliding each deadbolt back into place with more force than necessary. "Your security seems excessive for a simple flat," he remarked, setting his cane against the wall. "Eva's paranoid. And usually right to be." Rory crossed her arms. "What news, Lucien? Last time we spoke, you made it perfectly clear our... arrangement had reached its conclusion." Ptolemy approached Lucien with cautious curiosity, tail high and twitching. "Ah, the guardian." Lucien crouched, extending his hand for the cat to inspect. "We meet again, monsieur." "Don't charm the cat," Rory said. "He's a terrible judge of character." "On the contrary." Lucien scratched behind Ptolemy's ears, earning a rumbling purr. "Cats sense the supernatural with remarkable accuracy. They simply don't care about human notions of morality." Rory moved back to the kitchen, putting the counter between them. "You're dripping on Eva's floor." "My apologies." He straightened, unbuttoning his suit jacket. The white shirt beneath clung slightly to his chest where the rain had soaked through. "Don't." She held up a hand when he began to remove the jacket. "Just... state your business." Lucien paused, studying her with those unsettling eyes. The amber one caught the light from the kitchen, gleaming like a polished stone. "I received information about your ex. Evan." The name landed like a stone in still water. Rory's fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. "What about him?" "He's in London. Looking for you." Cold dread pooled in her stomach. She'd been careful. Changed her number. Moved flats three times before settling above Silas' bar. Even dyed her hair for six months. "How would you know that?" "Information is my currency, Aurora. You know this." He took a step toward the kitchen, then stopped when she tensed. "He approached one of my contacts at Crimson Veil last night, offering money for your whereabouts." The kettle on the stove began to whistle, a thin, reedy sound that matched the feeling in her chest. Rory turned to remove it, grateful for something to do with her hands. "You could have called with this information. Or sent a text. Why come here?" "Would you have answered?" She didn't respond, focusing instead on pouring hot water into a fresh mug. The tea bag bobbed to the surface, releasing tendrils of amber color. "That's what I thought." Lucien's voice was closer now. She turned to find him standing at the edge of the kitchen, his tall frame blocking the exit. "So you've delivered your warning. Thank you for your concern. Is that all?" She aimed for coolness, but her voice wavered slightly. "No, it isn't." He took another step forward. "I've come to offer protection." Rory laughed, a short, sharp sound. "That's rich, coming from you. Five months of silence, and now you want to play guardian angel?" "I never claimed to be an angel." His expression hardened. "But I'm not offering out of charity. Evan's been asking questions about me, too. About my business. About my clients. He's becoming a mutual problem." "And there it is." She set the mug down with a clack. "The real reason you're here. Your precious reputation is at risk." "My reasons are irrelevant. The fact remains that you need protection, and I can provide it." "I don't need saving, Lucien. Especially not by you." His eyes darkened. "This isn't a game, Aurora. The man is dangerous." "I'm well aware." She pushed up her sleeve, revealing the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. "I have the reminders." Lucien's gaze fixed on the scar, and something flashed across his face—something raw and furious that disappeared so quickly she might have imagined it. "Then you understand the threat." He moved closer, until barely a foot separated them. "I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to be practical." "Practical?" Rory's laugh was bitter. "Was it practical when you cut me off without explanation after I told you about my past? Was it practical when you refused to answer my calls for weeks?" "I did what was necessary." "Necessary for whom?" "For both of us." He ran a hand over his face, a rare gesture of frustration. "My world isn't safe for someone like you." "Someone like me?" She stepped forward, anger burning away her caution. "Human, you mean? Ordinary? Not worth the complication?" "Someone good." The words came out rough, almost reluctant. "Someone who deserves better than the shadows I walk in." The admission hung in the air between them, unexpected and raw. "That wasn't your decision to make." "Perhaps not." He met her gaze directly. "But it was the only one I could live with at the time." They stood in silence, the space between them charged with things unsaid. Rain continued to beat against the windows, and somewhere in the flat, Ptolemy knocked something over with a soft thud. "I don't need your protection," Rory finally said, her voice quiet but firm. "But I would like some answers." Lucien's posture shifted, almost imperceptibly relaxing. "That seems a fair exchange." "No half-truths. No cryptic remarks." A hint of his familiar smirk returned. "You're asking a half-demon to be straightforward? You always did enjoy impossible challenges." "And you always did talk in circles when something mattered." She picked up her tea, cradling the warmth between her palms. "Start with why you really left." His mismatched eyes held hers for a long moment. "Because I was afraid," he finally said, the admission seeming to cost him something. "Not of Evan or any external threat. I was afraid of what I felt for you."