Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT041DK5G5W7RCKZMKCN0X2

Aurora’s fingers froze on the third deadbolt. The peephole offered nothing but shadows. She slid the chain aside, jabbed the bolt free, then yanked the door open. Lucien Moreau filled the frame. He stood in charcoal suit, cane in one hand, shoes whispering against the chipped threshold. Amber eye met blue. Hesitation flickered across his face—an expression she’d seen only once before, in Marseille. “I—” He cleared his throat. The word snagged. She stepped back, letting the door swing wider. Behind her, Ptolemy padded from the living room, tail high, whiskers twitching. Lucien’s lips twitched when the cat brushed his leg. “Hello, Ptolemy.” Aurora locked onto his cane. Ivory handle. Concealed blade. Nothing but silent menace and promise. “Why are you here?” Her voice stayed even, but her pulse roared inside her ears. He set the cane upright, one finger curling along its length. “We need to talk.” Her jaw clenched. “About what?” He lifted one brow. Black eye. Amber eye. The contrast pinched his face into something more human, less demon. “Us.” The word landed like a brick. She swallowed. The room smelled of turmeric and old paper—Eva’s flat on Brick Lane. Every surface bore scrolls, research notes. She’d come here this afternoon to sift through Eva’s lore on demon pacts. She hadn’t expected Lucien. He shifted weight from one foot to the other. “I know I left—abruptly. I owe you an explanation.” Her lips curved with bitterness. “You said you’d be gone for a week.” “Two weeks.” He looked away. “Then I thought I could handle things without you.” Aurora’s heart lurched. She’d waited on replies. Letters that never arrived. Nights spent staring at unanswered messages on her phone. “You ghosted.” He flinched. Ptolemy meowed, rubbing against Aurora’s calf. She bent to stroke his head, buying herself a moment. Lucien stayed still, watching. As if afraid to break something fragile. She stood. “Come in, then.” He ducked under the doorframe, dropped the cane by the coat rack. The brass hooks had chipped paint shaped like tiny islands. She remembered hanging his overcoat there once, hands brushing. He took a timid step toward the living room. Books teetered on a side table. She kicked aside a volume on demon summoning, then perched on the arm of the sofa across from him. He lowered himself onto the cushions, careful not to crease the fabric. Their knees hovered inches apart. The air pulsed around them. Silence stretched. Ptolemy curled on Lucien’s lap, tail lashing. Lucien brushed the cat behind one ear. Ptolemy purred. Aurora folded her arms. “You came here. Why?” Lucien exhaled. “I’m in trouble.” Her eyes narrowed. She’d always thought he thrived in trouble. “What kind?” “Personal.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Blond hair slipped free from its slicked-back style. “I can’t go into detail.” “How convenient.” The edge in her voice cut the distance between them. He winced. “I didn’t come to argue.” She tapped a stray scroll on the table, scattering notes. “Then why?” He reached out, hovering his hand above the mess, then pulled back. “Because…when I disappeared, I left you vulnerable. I wouldn’t forgive myself.” Vulnerable. She remembered the night he vanished. Moonless sky. Rain-soaked pavement. She’d searched for him until dawn, dread knotting her stomach. She’d blamed herself. If only she’d insisted. She looked away. “I got by.” He sighed. “You didn’t.” Her chest tightened. “I work at Golden Empress. I have bills. I have friends.” She gestured at the cramped flat. “And this.” His gaze lingered on the chaos of scrolls and books. “I know you do. But you shouldn’t have had to.” He leaned forward. “I needed to protect you.” A surge of anger flared. “You vanish, leave me with questions and danger, then claim you were protecting me?” His heterochromatic eyes softened. “I panicked. Avaros…my father.” He swallowed. “He’s pulling strings in London. They’re watching me. Anyone close to me is at risk.” Her heart stuttered. She remembered whispers in Silas’s bar, rumors of half-demons facing retribution. Her throat closed around guilt. She’d thought his disappearance was betrayal. It was fear. She rose, pacing between piles of research. “You could have called.” He held up a hand. “I tried. My phone went dead. I had no safe line.” She stopped, studying him from the corner of her eye. “Then you could’ve come back sooner.” He rose too, smothering the cane in one hand. “I couldn’t leave Avaros’s reach that quickly.” Aurora pinched the bridge of her nose. “So I spent two weeks wondering if I did something wrong.” “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, the first real break she’d heard. “I’m so sorry.” Her breath caught. She turned to face him. The golden light from the streetlamp outside slanted through the window, dust motes drifting between them. He looked smaller, human. Her voice softened despite herself. “I don’t know if I can trust you.” He stepped closer, closing the gap until she felt heat radiate off his suit. “Then let me earn it.” She swallowed. Memories rose unbidden: midnight conversations in Silas’s back room, laughter echoing far too late, the brush of his fingers on her wrist when he traced the crescent scar she never mentioned. He reached out, fingertips trembling, and brushed the scar. “You carry this. Invisible pain. I never asked about it.” She stilled, eyes fluttering shut. “It’s nothing now.” “It’s not nothing if it’s you.” His gaze locked onto her scar. “I failed you.” Her chest tightened. She swallowed, nodded. “You did.” He straightened, heart pounding in his chest. “Then let me try to fix it.” She searched his face, shadows and light painting his features. “How?” He took a step back, offered a small smile. “Stay with me tonight. Let me explain everything. Let me protect you.” She stared at the floor, torn. Outside, the street hummed with late-night traffic. Ptolemy’s purr vibrated against Lucien’s thigh. At last, she lifted her head. “One night.” He exhaled relief so quietly she barely heard. “Just one.” She moved to the sofa, smoothing the cushion. He placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to sit. He sank beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. He cleared his throat. “I owe you the truth about Avaros. About my father. And I owe you an apology for every lonely night.” Her gaze found his. “Then start talking.” He nodded and folded his cane across his lap. Ptolemy hopped off, winding between their legs. Lucien reached out, offering a stray scroll. “This is what I was chasing when I left.” She took the parchment, unrolling it to reveal sigils that pulsed faintly. “Demon wards.” “When my father made his move, I thought I could discover their source and stop him.” His jaw clenched. “I miscalculated.” She traced a symbol with her fingertip. “You left me a mess of unanswered notes.” He swallowed. “I’m here now. Let me help you finish them.” She locked eyes with him. “Okay.” He closed the distance, sliding one arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, pulses settling. Outside the window, Brick Lane’s neon signs flickered. Inside, two people who’d lost their way began to find each other again, one careful word at a time.