Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0021G7DSXAG7NV2XQVWD6

Aurora stood in the kitchen, her hands immersed in a bowl of flour, the scent of fresh dough filling the cramped air of her flat. Ptolemy lounged on the windowsill, basking in the meager sunlight filtering through the dusty glass. The pages of research notes lay scattered across every available surface, chaotic reminders of restless nights spent deciphering ancient texts. She leaned over the counter, kneading the dough with a rhythm that mirrored her heart's steady beat. The soft thud echoed in the silence, but a sudden, sharp knock pulled her from her concentration. Thud, thud, thud. A chill climbed her spine. Who could it be? Most people gave her at least a heads-up before showing up at Eva's flat. She wiped her hands on her apron, brushing flour across her jeans, and moved cautiously toward the door. She hesitated. Her pulse quickened, a whirlwind of hope and dread swirling within her. What if it was Evan? What if it was someone from her past? Her breath paused, heavy in her chest, as she grabbed the handle and swung the door open. “What the—” Lucien Moreau stood on her doorstep, an image of polished composure dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that hugged his frame perfectly. His slicked-back platinum hair glinted in the wan light, and those mismatched eyes—one amber, one black—glimmered with a mix of surprise and something else. “Rory,” he murmured, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She blinked, caught off guard. “Luc.” Though she tried to keep her tone even, a hint of something fluttered in her chest. “You look… different.” He leaned slightly against the doorframe, assessing her as if sizing up a wild card. She crossed her arms, belligerence curling her lips. “And you look like you belong on the cover of a magazine. What do you want?” "Straight to the point. I like that." He pushed through the door, sidestepping her surprise. She inhaled sharply but stepped aside, closing the door with a soft click behind him. The space seemed to shrink as he filled it with his presence. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Lucien's eyes darted around the flat, taking in the chaos of books and scrolls, a glimpse of her life that he never fully grasped. “Not in this… environment.” Rory busied herself, wiping her hands on her apron again, desperate for something to do. “It’s what I can manage these days—holidays, dough, and my research.” She motioned to the mess around her. "It's not a museum for sophisticated demons like you." “You know I’m not a demon.” He chuckled, a low rumble. The sound both annoyed and intrigued her, stirring memories of laughter that echoed in moonlit corners of their fractured history. “Right, half-demon. What’s your point?” She turned her back on him, making her way back to the kitchen, attempting to dispel the tension. A beat of silence pressed down before he spoke again. “I didn’t come here to argue about labels. I need your help.” Rory looked over her shoulder. “My help? Why would I help you, Luc?” “Because I’m in a tight spot, and you’re the best person I know for this kind of… situation.” “Have you tried someone else? I’m busy.” She faked a casualness, though the sparks of old feelings danced beneath her skin. She turned down her voice, letting it trail off, as she felt the warmth radiate from him. He moved closer, his presence steady, and lowered his voice. “This isn’t something I take lightly. It’s about the artifacts I mentioned last time we spoke. I need someone who’s used to dealing with tricky situations.” “What is this, some sort of demon-infested scavenger hunt?” Sarcasm dripped from her words. “More like a rescue mission.” Lucien's tone shifted, serious now, his eyes boring into hers. “You’re going to want to listen. A group has gotten their hands on something they shouldn’t have, and it’s my neck on the line.” A beat passed as she considered his words, the conflict simmering in her chest. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? You must have known this was brewing.” “I thought I could handle it alone. Old habits die hard.” His gaze flickered momentarily, revealing a hint of vulnerability. “But I need you, Rory. I can’t do this without your knowledge.” She snorted, crossing her arms again. “You think flattery will get me to help you?” Lucien shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll have to try other tactics.” Rory shook her head, rolling her eyes to mask the uneasiness creeping in. “Why do you always have to make things complicated?” “Complicated is my specialty.” He leaned against the counter, casual, confident, as the air crackled between them. “Right. And just tell me—what’s the catch? There’s always a catch with you.” He hesitated, the glimmer in his eyes wavering. “There’s no catch, just a risk. A significant one.” Her heart pounded. “What do you mean?” “They have people watching. This isn’t just about the artifacts; it ties to some dangerous players in the supernatural world. I’ve been waiting to gauge the scene, but I need you to help me navigate it.” “You think I’m just some pawn in your game?” “For you, I’d do anything but pawn.” His voice softened, sincerity laced in his tone. Rory stepped back, processing his words, the weight of history heavy between them. The tumult stirred emotions long buried. “Why now? After everything?” “Because I trust you.” He closed the distance, searching her face. “You're brilliant, Rory. You always were. I should have seen it before.” She scoffed, but heat crawled up her neck. “Trust isn’t something you get to throw around lightly. You broke it, and I am not your charity case.” “Then let’s rebuild it.” His gaze held hers, unwavering. “This isn’t just about you or me anymore. It’s bigger than that.” She studied him, trying to separate the man from the memories. “You always had a knack for getting what you wanted.” “It’s not a want anymore. It’s a need.” Lucien’s tone shifted, earnest desperation slipping in. “Help me, and I’ll make it worth your while. Besides, I don’t think I can face this without you.” “You’re good.” “I’m serious." He leaned closer, lowering his voice, wrapping her in an almost tangible urgency. “Whatever it takes, I get us out. Together.” Rory’s heart thumped against her chest, her resolve wavering. Part of her felt the pull, the magnetic desire that had remained dormant, now surging forth. “Fine. But this better not go sideways.” “Trust me, I'll do my best.” For a moment, they lingered in a fragile silence, memories of a past intertwined with a volatile present. She studied his face again, the way those mismatched eyes seemed to hold untold stories, the warmth circling around them. “Rory,” he said, breaking the gaze. “We should get started.” She stepped back, breaking the spell. “Let’s get this straight. I’m only helping because it’s a mess that concerns me too, not because of anything else.” “Understood.” “Good.” As urgency filled the room, the faint echoes of their past drew closer, mingling with the chaos she embraced. The battle lines had shifted, and for better or worse, Lucien was back—and she could feel everything unraveling around the edges.