Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT01Y1EFDRFJG827DQ2AP0C

The deadbolts rattled open one by one, each metallic click echoing in the narrow hallway. Rory pulled the door inward, the movement stiff with caution. On the other side stood Lucien Moreau, leaning against the doorframe with practiced nonchalance, his platinum hair catching the dim light of the hallway. One amber eye, one black—both fixed on her. "Rory." Her fingers tightened on the edge of the door. The small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist whitened with the pressure. "Lucien." "May I come in?" The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Three months of silence. Three months of carefully constructed walls. Here he stood, knocking them down with five syllables. Rory stepped back, just enough to let him pass. The scent of him—expensive cologne with something else beneath, something otherworldly—filled the cramped entranceway. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, arched his back from his perch on a stack of books, hissing once before darting under the sofa. "Still making friends wherever you go, I see." Lucien's charcoal suit seemed too refined for the chaos of Eva's flat. Books teetered in precarious towers, scrolls lay unfurled across every available surface, and half-empty mugs of tea left rings of brown on important-looking documents. "What are you doing here, Lucien?" He turned, his ivory-handled cane making a soft tap against the floorboards. "I heard you were staying here. With Eva." "Word travels fast in your circles." "Faster than you'd imagine." His gaze swept the room before settling back on her. "You've changed your hair." "I haven't." Rory's hand went instinctively to her straight black hair. "It's the same as always." "No. It's different. You wear it differently now." He took a step closer. "Or perhaps it's just you who's different." Rory moved toward the kitchen area, putting space between them. "I should offer you tea. Or something stronger." "Whiskey if you have it." She found a bottle and two glasses, her movements precise, controlled. The silence stretched, filled only by the clink of glass and the distant sounds of Brick Lane filtering through the thin window. "I didn't expect to see you again." Rory placed the glasses on the only clear corner of the coffee table, amber liquid sloshing against the sides. Lucien lowered himself into an armchair, the cane resting across his lap. "And yet here I am." "Here you are." She sat opposite him, perched on the edge of a cushion stacked high with academic journals. "Why?" He swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the light catch in the liquid. "There are things left unfinished between us, Rory." "Things were finished three months ago. You made that quite clear." "Did I?" His mismatched eyes met hers. "Or did we both run from something neither of us was ready to face?" Rory laughed, a short, bitter sound. "You're the one who walked away, Lucien. Not me." "Because it was necessary." He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Because what was happening between us... it was dangerous. For both of us." "We're adults. We can handle danger." "Not this kind." He set his glass down with deliberate care. "My world isn't yours, Rory. No matter how much you might wish otherwise." "And yet here you are. In my world. Again." She gestured around the cramped flat. "Uninvited." "I couldn't stay away." The admission hung in the air between them, raw and unexpected. "I've tried. Gods know, I've tried." Rory's breath caught. "What are you saying?" Lucien pushed himself up from the chair, crossing the small space in two strides. He knelt before her, reaching for her hand. The moment his fingers touched her skin, electricity seemed to crackle through the room. "I'm saying that every demon I've brokered information for, every deal I've made, every night I've spent in the underworld—it all feels meaningless without you." His thumb traced the small scar on her left wrist. "I never should have left. I was a fool." "A coward, you mean." But her voice had lost its edge, softened by the proximity of him, by the intensity in his eyes. "That too." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Will you forgive me?" Rory pulled her hand away, but didn't move back. "Why should I? Because you show up here unexpectedly, saying pretty words? What's changed, Lucien? Three months ago you told me we could never be together. That your demon heritage and my human life were incompatible." "Everything's changed." He reached for her again, this time cupping her face in his hands. "I've changed. These past months without you... they've shown me what I was willing to give up. And I'm not willing to give it up anymore." His lips met hers, tentative at first, then with growing urgency. Three months of separation, of longing, of regret poured into that kiss. Rory's hands found the lapels of his charcoal suit, pulling him closer, deeper. The scent of him, the feel of him, the taste of whiskey and something uniquely Lucien—it overwhelmed her senses. When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. "I've missed you," he murmured against her lips. "Every day." "Then why did you leave?" Lucien rested his forehead against hers. "Because I was afraid. Of what I feel for you. Of what it might mean. Of what my father's people might do if they discovered us." "And now?" "Now I realize that a life without you isn't worth living in fear." He pulled back slightly, his amber and black eyes searching hers. "I love you, Rory. I think I have from the moment we first met." Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. "You can't just show up here after three months and declare your love. It doesn't work like that." "Then tell me how it works." His voice was soft, pleading. "Tell me what I need to do to earn back your trust. Your love." Rory stood, creating distance once more. She paced the small living area, her steps careful around the towers of books. Ptolemy emerged from under the sofa, winding around her legs before jumping onto a windowsill. "I need time, Lucien. You can't just undo three months of hurt with a few words and a kiss." "I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to consider. To give us another chance." She stopped pacing, turning to face him. "And if I do? What then? What happens when the next danger comes? When your father's people discover us? When your world threatens to consume mine?" Lucien rose to his feet, his expression serious. "Then we face it together. As equals. I won't protect you by pushing you away again. That was my mistake before." Rory studied him, searching for hesitation or deception in his mismatched eyes. She found none, only sincerity and something else—vulnerability. "Stay for dinner," she said finally. "We can talk more then. And tomorrow... we can figure out what comes next." A slow smile spread across Lucien's face, reaching his eyes. "I'd like that. Very much." As he stepped closer, Rory met him halfway, her lips finding his in a promise of second chances and new beginnings.