Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT02XPGZP0CWSV6YHTSYPVC

The door swung open before Rory could knock a third time. Eva stood in the gap, barefoot and disheveled, wearing an oversized jumper that hung off one shoulder. Her dark curls were piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she held a half-eaten piece of toast in one hand. Behind her, Ptolemy wound between her ankles, tail swishing. They stared at each other. "Rory." Eva's voice came out flat. "Can I come in?" Eva didn't move. Her jaw worked. "It's been six months." "I know." "Six months, and now you just show up at half seven on a Thursday morning." Rory shifted the canvas bag higher on her shoulder. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important." "That's what you said the last time." Eva took a bite of her toast, chewing slowly, deliberately. "Right before you disappeared." Heat crawled up Rory's neck. "That's not fair." "Isn't it?" Eva crossed her arms, the toast dangling from her fingers. "You shagged me, told me you needed space to sort your head out, then vanished. Changed your number. Eva from the library said you'd moved flats. I had to hear from Yu-Fei that you were even still in London." "I did need space." "Space. Right." Eva laughed, bitter and sharp. "Well, you've had six months of it. So what changed?" Rory glanced over her shoulder at the stairwell. The curry house below hadn't opened yet, but voices drifted up from the street — the clatter of morning deliveries, someone shouting about a parking space. She lowered her voice. "Someone tried to kill me last night." Eva's expression shifted. The hardness in her eyes fractured, replaced by something closer to alarm. She stepped back, pulling the door wider. "Get in." Rory slipped past her into the familiar chaos of the flat. Books covered every surface — stacked on the coffee table, piled beside the sofa, balanced precariously on the windowsill. Scrolls lay unfurled across the kitchen counter, held down by coffee mugs and a butter knife. The air smelled like burnt toast and bergamot tea. Eva threw all three deadbolts. "Tell me." "I was making a delivery in Shoreditch. Corner of Holywell Lane. This bloke came out of nowhere, grabbed me, shoved me against the wall." Rory set her bag on the floor, rolling her shoulder where it still ached. "Had a knife. Started asking about something called the Malphora Seal." Eva went very still. "You know what that is." "Shit." Eva set the toast down, running both hands over her face. "Shit, shit, shit." "So you do know." "This is my fault." Eva turned away, pacing toward the window. Ptolemy darted out of her path, disappearing under the sofa. "I should have told you. I meant to tell you, but then everything happened, and you left, and I thought—I thought maybe it was better if you didn't know." Rory's chest tightened. "Eva. What is the Malphora Seal?" "It's you." The words landed wrong, like a book falling spine-first onto concrete. Rory blinked. "What?" Eva faced her again. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her hands twisted together at her waist. "Your grandmother — your mum's mum — her maiden name was Malphora. She was from a family of weavers. Not fabric weavers. Reality weavers. People who could manipulate the threads between realms." "That's ridiculous." "You asked me to research your family tree last year. Remember? You wanted to know why strange things kept happening around you. Why you always knew when someone was lying, why doors unlocked when you touched them, why that tosser Evan could never track you down no matter how hard he tried." Eva's voice rose. "I found things, Rory. Old things. Your grandmother sealed something before she died. Something dangerous. And she bound it to her bloodline." Rory's mouth had gone dry. "You're saying I'm the seal." "You're the lock and the key both." Eva stepped closer, her hand reaching out before she seemed to catch herself and pulled it back. "There are people — creatures, demons, all sorts — who want what she locked away. They've been looking for decades. I thought I'd covered your trail. Changed enough records, buried enough connections that no one would make the link between Aurora Carter and the Malphora line." "Apparently you missed one." "Apparently I did." Eva's gaze dropped to Rory's wrist, to the small crescent scar visible beneath her sleeve. "The bloke with the knife. Did he say anything else?" "Said I had something that belonged to his employer. Said they'd been very patient, but their patience had limits." Rory touched her wrist unconsciously. "I kneed him in the bollocks and ran. Went to ground at Silas' place for a few hours, then came here." "Does anyone know you're here?" "Just Silas. And..." Rory hesitated. "Lucien." Eva's expression shuttered. "The Frenchman." "He helped me in Battersea last month. Said I could call if I needed information." "And you trust him?" "I don't trust anyone right now." The words came out sharper than Rory intended. "I came here because you're the only person who knows about this supernatural shite. The only person who might actually be able to help." Eva was quiet for a long moment. She moved to the kitchen counter, clearing a space among the scrolls and pulling out two mugs. The kettle sat on the hob, still warm from her morning tea. She relit the gas. "I never wanted to hurt you," Rory said. "I know." "I panicked. After that night, I—" Rory pressed her palms against her eyes. "Everything in my life had already gone sideways. Evan, leaving Cardiff, feeling like I was constantly looking over my shoulder. And then you and I finally..." She dropped her hands. "It felt too good. Too easy. Like something else was about to go wrong." Eva spooned loose tea into an infuser. "So you made something go wrong." "Yeah." The kettle began to whistle. Eva poured hot water into both mugs, the steam rising between them. She pushed one across the counter toward Rory. "I shouldn't have shut you out," Rory said. "I'm sorry." Eva wrapped both hands around her own mug. Her knuckles had ink stains on them — blue and black, from whatever she'd been transcribing before Rory knocked. "I'm sorry too. For not telling you about your grandmother. About what you're carrying." "What am I carrying, exactly?" "I don't know yet. The records are fragmented. Your grandmother was careful." Eva took a sip of her tea, wincing at the heat. "But whatever it is, it's powerful enough that people are still hunting for it twenty-five years after her death. And now they know where to find you." Rory's hand trembled slightly as she lifted her mug. The tea tasted bitter, under-steeped. "So what do we do?" "We figure out what the seal actually contains. Then we figure out how to keep you alive." Eva met her gaze across the counter. "And we do it together. No more running off." "No more keeping secrets." "Deal." Ptolemy emerged from beneath the sofa, tail high, and jumped onto the counter between them. He sniffed at Rory's mug, whiskers twitching with disdain, before settling down into a loaf. Eva reached out and scratched behind his ears. Her other hand rested on the counter, fingers drumming against the scarred wood. Rory set her mug down and covered those fingers with her own. Eva didn't pull away.