Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT02VFBP13C3KX55JB21DN2

Three deadbolts clicked open in rapid succession, the metallic rasp echoing off the narrow hallway walls. The chain rattled before the door swung inward, revealing the cramped chaos of the flat above the curry house. Spices from the kitchen below clung to the air, a thick haze of cumin and turmeric that usually comforted Rory but now felt suffocating. Lucien Moreau stood on the threshold. Rain dripped from the brim of an invisible umbrella, darkening the shoulders of his charcoal suit. He leaned against the doorframe, ivory cane hooked over his wrist, looking as though he had stepped out of a boardroom rather than the damp London night. His heterochromatic eyes, one amber and one black, scanned the cluttered room behind her before locking onto her face. "Move," Rory said, her hand still on the door. "You're letting the heat out." "Ice, actually. It is positively frigid out here." Lucien stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his polished shoes clicking against the linoleum. He navigated the stacks of books and scrolls with practiced ease, as if he had mapped the terrain of Eva's flat in his sleep. "Your friend Eva has excellent security, though perhaps a touch dramatic with the third bolt." "Eva likes to sleep without worrying about demons kicking down her door." Rory slammed the door shut and engaged the locks again, the sound final and heavy. She turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "How did you find this place?" "London is a village for those who know where to listen." Lucien set his cane against a stack of mythology texts, the ivory handle gleaming under the warm lamp light. He shrugged off his coat, revealing a crisp white shirt that seemed untouched by the weather. "And you, my dear Rory, are not as invisible as you think. The scent of cardamom and old paper trails from this building like a beacon." "You have no business being here." "On the contrary." He moved closer, invading her personal space with that maddening calm he always wore like armor. "I have every business. You vanished. Three weeks, Aurora. Not a word. Not a signal." "I told you to leave it alone." Rory backed up until her hips hit the edge of the sofa. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, stirred from a pile of research notes, glared at Lucien, and stalked away to the kitchen. "We're done. That was the deal." "Deals require signatures. We had only a verbal agreement made in the back of a moving van while being chased by shadow hounds." Lucien stopped inches from her. He smelled of rain, expensive cologne, and something faintly sulfuric that hinted at his father's lineage. "Hardly binding." "It was clear enough." "Was it?" He tilted his head, the platinum blond hair slicked back perfectly despite the humidity. "Because I recall a woman who looked at me with something far more complicated than dismissal before she ran off to hide in her friend's cupboard of a flat." Rory's pulse hammered against her ribs. She hated how he saw through her, how those mismatched eyes seemed to peel back the layers of her carefully constructed defenses. "I needed space. I needed to figure out who I was without... without all of this." She gestured vaguely at him, at the supernatural world he represented. "And have you?" Lucien's voice dropped, losing its polished edge. "Found yourself?" "I'm working delivery for Yu-Fei. I'm studying law again, sort of. I'm normal." "You are many things, Aurora Carter, but normal is not one of them." He reached out, his long fingers brushing a stray lock of black hair from her cheek. His touch sent a jolt through her, electric and unwelcome. "You carry a scar on your wrist that glows when magic is near. You think like a strategist but feel like a storm. Do not insult me by pretending otherwise." Rory slapped his hand away, though the motion lacked real force. "Don't touch me." "Tell me to leave, then." Lucien didn't retreat. He stood his ground, looming over her slight frame. "Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to walk out that door and never come back. Say it, and I will vanish so completely you will wonder if I ever existed." The words stuck in her throat. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of traffic on Brick Lane and the rhythmic drip of rain against the windowpane. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the tension in his jaw, the way his thumb rubbed against the fabric of his trousers. He wasn't just here to check on an asset. He was here because he cared, and that terrified her more than any demon. "You left me," she whispered, the accusation tasting like ash. "In Paris. You walked away first." "I walked away to keep you alive." Lucien's voice cracked, a rare fracture in his composure. "Your ex, Evan, he wasn't just abusive, Rory. He was mixed up with things from Avaros. If I stayed close, they would have used me to get to you. Leaving was the only play that kept your heart beating." "You didn't trust me to handle it." "I trusted you too much." He stepped in again, closing the final gap between them. His hands came up to rest on her shoulders, warm and solid. "I knew you would fight. I knew you would try to save everyone, including me, and get yourself killed in the process. So I made the hard choice. I let you hate me." "I didn't hate you." The admission slipped out before she could stop it. "I was furious. I was hurt. But never hate." Lucien let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for weeks. His forehead rested against hers, the cool skin of his brow contrasting with the heat radiating from her. "Good. Because I could not bear the thought of your hatred. Your anger, I can manage. Your indifference, I might survive. But your hate?" He shook his head slightly. "That would have ended me." Rory gripped the lapels of his suit jacket, bunching the fine charcoal wool in her fists. "You can't just show up and fix everything with a speech, Lucien. The mess is still here. Evan is still out there. My life is a wreck." "Then let us clean it up." His eyes searched hers, the amber one swirling with gold flecks, the black one absorbing the light. "Together. No more running. No more secrets. We face whatever comes, side by side." "It won't be easy." "Nothing worth having ever is." He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, his touch gentle now, reverent. "Besides, I find I have grown quite fond of your chaos." A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Rory's mouth. "You're impossible." "I am persistent." Lucien leaned down, his lips hovering just above hers. "There is a distinction." "Prove it." He closed the distance. The kiss was not tentative; it was a collision of pent-up frustration and longing, fierce and demanding. Rory melted into him, her hands sliding up to thread through his platinum hair, messing the perfect slickness. He tasted of rain and wine, familiar and new all at once. The world outside the flat, with its dangers and complications, faded into the background, replaced by the solid weight of his body against hers and the frantic beat of two hearts syncing up after too long apart. Ptolemy meowed loudly from the kitchen, breaking the moment. Lucien pulled back just enough to look at her, a genuine smile softening his sharp features. "I believe the cat demands dinner." "He's hungry. I'm hungry." Rory kept her hands on his chest, unwilling to let go completely. "There's leftover curry in the fridge." "Curry it is." Lucien kissed her forehead, then stepped back, retrieving his cane. He didn't move toward the door, however. Instead, he began to roll up his sleeves, revealing the forearms corded with muscle and faint, glowing tattoos. "Set the table, Rory. I will heat the food. And then, you are going to tell me everything about this Evan situation, and we are going to make a plan." Rory watched him move toward the kitchen, confident and capable, filling the small space with a presence that felt like home. "You're bossy." "I am efficient." He glanced back over his shoulder, the amber eye catching the light. "Now, plates. Unless you wish to eat like savages." "Shut up and cook, Frenchman." "With pleasure, my love."