Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT02F5RDTVGXT2D9X7X8N7A

Three deadbolts slid back. Metal groaned against metal. Rory pulled the door open. Lucien stood on the landing. Rain dampened the shoulders of his charcoal suit. Water dripped from the brim of nothing, his platinum hair slicked back regardless of the weather. The ivory handle of his cane pressed into the palm of a gloved hand. Rory kept her hand on the door. Her knuckles whitened. You found me. London remains small when one knows where to look. Lucien stepped forward. Rory did not move. The space between them shrunk to the width of the threshold. The smell of ozone and expensive cologne drifted off him. It clashed with the scent of curry rising from the floorboards below. Eva expects guests. Eva expects delivery drivers. Not fixers. Lucien tilted his head. The amber eye caught the hallway light. The black pupil swallowed the iris. May I enter? Rory stepped back. The movement felt involuntary. Lucien crossed the threshold. He wiped his shoes on the mat. A tabby cat wound itself around his ankles. Lucien halted. He looked down at the animal. Ptolemy demands tribute. He stays fed. Lucien nudged the cat aside with the tip of his cane. The ivory handle gleamed. He surveyed the room. Stacks of books covered the table. Scrolls spilled from boxes onto the floor. Research notes pinned the walls. You live in a archive. I am staying here. Temporary arrangements suit you. Rory closed the door. She locked the top bolt. The sound echoed in the cramped space. She turned to face him. Lucien stood near the window. The glass rattled in the frame. Wind howled outside Brick Lane. Why are you here, Lucien? Business brought me to London. Curiosity brought me here. You left Marseille without a word. I left to keep you breathing. Rory walked to the table. She moved a stack of papers. Her left wrist brushed the edge. The crescent-shaped scar peeked from her sleeve. Lucien's gaze tracked the motion. You do not get to decide what keeps me breathing. Someone decided otherwise. Evan. The name hung in the air. Rory stiffened. She gripped the edge of the table. He is in prison. Prisons have doors. Doors open. Lucien moved away from the window. He navigated the clutter with precision. The cane tapped against the floorboards. He stopped inches from her. The height difference forced her to look up. His heterochromatic eyes bore into her bright blue ones. You ran to Cardiff. Then London. Now this flat. I move when I need to. You run when you fear. Rory pushed off the table. She stepped into his space. The heat radiating from him differed from human warmth. It hummed under the skin. A demon's heat. I ran because you vanished. You took the file. You took the contact. You took yourself. Protection requires distance. Protection looks like abandonment. Lucien raised a hand. He hovered it near her cheek. He did not touch. The air between them crackled. Rory leaned into the space. Her breath hitched. I watched you from the shadows. You delivered noodles. You studied law. You survived. Survival is not living. No. Lucien dropped his hand. He turned away. He examined a scroll on the wall. Ancient script covered the parchment. You investigate the Avaros realm. I investigate anything that threatens me. Including me. Especially you. Lucien laughed. The sound lacked humour. It scraped against the silence. You possess a sharp mind, Aurora. It dulls when emotion clouds the edge. Do not call me that. Rory? You know what I mean. Lucien turned back. He leaned against the table. He displaced a pile of books. They slid across the wood. We parted because the truth became dangerous. The truth was you chose your father's realm over me. I chose your safety over my heritage. Semantics. Lucien pushed off the table. He closed the distance again. This time he touched. His gloved fingers brushed the scar on her wrist. The leather felt cool. Rory did not pull away. This mark remains. Accidents happen. This was no accident. You bore it the week we met. Memory serves you well. It serves me exclusively. Rory covered his hand with hers. She peeled the glove back. Skin met skin. The contact sent a jolt through her arm. Lucien's pupils dilated. The black swallowed more of the amber. You came back. I never left. Liar. Lucien stepped closer. His chest pressed against hers. The charcoal suit scratched against her jumper. He smelled of rain and old magic. Rory tilted her head. Her lips parted. The cat meowed. Ptolemy jumped onto the table. He knocked over a pen. It rolled to the floor. Lucien did not look away. Rory did not move. The door locks engage automatically. I engaged them manually. Someone approaches. Rory pulled back. She smoothed her jumper. Lucien adjusted his cuff. He slipped the glove back on. Who? Evil wears many faces. Sometimes it wears a neighbour's face. Rory moved to the door. She looked through the peephole. The hallway stood empty. A light flickered overhead. No one is there. They wait. Lucien picked up his cane. He tapped the floor twice. The sound resonated deeper than wood should allow. You cannot stay here. I pay rent. Money holds no weight against what hunts you. Then tell me what hunts me. Lucien walked to the window. He looked down at the street. Cars passed below. Headlights swept across the ceiling. You already know. The bloodline. The pact. The debt. My father dealt with lawyers. Not demons. Your father dealt with things he could not bind. Rory crossed her arms. She leaned against the door. The three deadbolts felt insufficient. You owe me an explanation. I owe you nothing. I gave you years. You gave me silence. Silence keeps hearts beating. Lucien turned from the window. He walked toward her. He stopped within reach. He reached out. He tucked a strand of straight black hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her jaw. Come with me. Where? Away from Brick Lane. Away from the scrolls. Away from the past. And go where? Marseille? Avaros? Somewhere safe. Nowhere is safe. I am there. Rory looked at his hand. She looked at his eyes. The amber swirled. The black remained void. You left once. I returned. People leave twice. Lucien dropped his hand. He gripped the cane. The ivory head creaked under the pressure. Then lock the door. Stay here. Wait for the knock. Rory reached for the bolt. Her hand hovered over the metal. Or? Or I walk out. I leave you to the debt collectors. I vanish into the smoke. You would do that. I am a fixer. I fix problems. Sometimes I remove them. Rory stared at him. The tension pulled tight. The cat rubbed against Lucien's leg. He ignored it. You are not a problem. I am a complication. Same thing. Lucien moved to the door. He placed his hand on the handle. He did not turn it. He waited. Rory watched him. The silence stretched. The wind battered the window. The curry scent rose stronger from below. Open it. Rory stepped forward. She placed her hand over his. The leather felt warm now. Not yet. Lucien turned his hand. He interlaced his fingers with hers. The grip tightened. Time runs out, Aurora. It always does. He leaned down. His forehead rested against hers. The contact burned. Rory closed her eyes. The scar on her wrist throbbed. Make the choice. Rory opened her eyes. She looked at the locks. She looked at Lucien. Give me one reason. You love me. I hate you. Lie. Rory pulled her hand away. She stepped back. The space between them widened. Lucien stood by the door. He waited. The cane tapped once. Prove it. Lucien smiled. It did not reach his eyes. Open the door. Walk with me. See what waits outside. Rory reached for the top bolt. She slid it back. The metal shrieked.