Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT08YTFHW2NYK3PC7PEV6MT

The knock rattled through Eva's flat like thunder. Rory froze, chopsticks halfway to her mouth, curry dripping onto the takeaway container balanced on her knee. Nobody visited Eva's place. Three deadbolts and a reputation for hexing unwanted guests saw to that. Another knock, sharper this time. "Eva's not here," Rory called through the door. She set the curry aside and padded barefoot across the cluttered floor, dodging stacks of grimoires and Ptolemy's swishing tail. "I know." The voice on the other side made her stomach drop. Smooth as aged whiskey, with that hint of Marseille that crept in when he was tired. "Open the door, Aurora." She pressed her forehead against the wood, heart hammering. Three months since she'd last heard that voice. Three months since she'd walked out of his Mayfair office with her dignity in tatters and a promise to never darken his doorstep again. "How did you find me?" "I'm an information broker. Finding people is rather the point." "Go away, Lucien." Silence stretched between them, broken only by Ptolemy's curious mrow as he wound around her ankles. Then came the soft tap of his cane against the door — ivory on wood, a sound she'd know anywhere. "I have information about Evan." The name hit her like ice water. Her fingers moved to the deadbolts before she could stop herself, working each lock with practiced efficiency. The door swung open to reveal Lucien Moreau in all his immaculate glory — charcoal suit without a wrinkle, platinum hair catching the dim hallway light. His heterochromatic eyes met hers, amber and black, and for a moment neither of them breathed. "You look well." His gaze traveled over her delivery uniform, the curry stain on her collar, her bare feet. "The glamorous life of a fugitive." "What do you want?" He shifted his weight on the cane, a tell she recognized. Lucien only leaned on it when genuinely tired, too proud to show weakness otherwise. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. "May I come in?" "That depends. Are you here as Lucien or as Moreau the Fixer?" "Which would you prefer?" She stepped aside without answering, and he crossed the threshold with careful grace. Ptolemy immediately began investigating his trouser legs, purring like a motorboat. "Traitor," Rory muttered at the cat. Lucien surveyed the chaos of Eva's flat — books piled on every surface, crystals humming with latent energy, herbs drying from the ceiling beams. His nose wrinkled at the competing scents of sage and curry. "Charming. Very... atmospheric." "Not all of us can afford Mayfair." She crossed her arms. "Talk. What about Evan?" He turned to face her, and she caught something in his expression before he smoothed it away. Pain? Regret? With Lucien, emotions were currency, shown only when they served a purpose. "He's in London." The words landed like a physical blow. She gripped the back of Eva's ancient sofa, knuckles white. "That's impossible. The restraining order—" "Means nothing to someone with his connections." Lucien's cane traced patterns on the worn carpet. "He arrived two days ago. He's been asking questions about you." "And naturally, you came to warn me out of the goodness of your heart." His jaw tightened. "Contrary to your stellar opinion of my character, I don't actually wish to see you harmed." "You made that abundantly clear three months ago." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Ptolemy stopped purring, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Lucien's eyes — both of them — darkened. "As I recall, you were the one who walked out." "After you chose a business deal over—" She bit off the words, turning away. Through Eva's grimy window, she could see the curry house's neon sign flickering. "It doesn't matter now." "Doesn't it?" She heard him move closer, the soft tap of his cane marking each step. He smelled the same — cardamom and expensive cologne, with that underlying hint of brimstone that marked his heritage. It made her chest ache. "Rory." "Don't." She kept her eyes fixed on the window. "Just tell me what you know about Evan and go." "He's staying at the Dorchester under an assumed name. He's been in contact with several... unsavory individuals. The kind who specialize in finding people who don't want to be found." "Bounty hunters?" "Among other things." His reflection appeared in the window beside hers. "He knows you're in London. It's only a matter of time before he narrows down where." She laughed, bitter and sharp. "And I suppose you're offering your protection? For a price, of course." "I'm offering you information. What you do with it is your choice." "How generous." She spun to face him, anger finally overtaking caution. "Tell me, Lucien, what's the going rate for selling out someone you claimed to care about? Did Evan offer you thirty pieces of silver, or did you hold out for more?" His cane hit the floor with a crack that made Ptolemy bolt for the bedroom. For a moment, Lucien's carefully constructed mask slipped entirely. The amber eye blazed while the black one seemed to swallow light, and she remembered with sudden clarity that he was only half human. "I never sold you out." "Then how does he know I'm in London?" "Because he hired someone else. Someone without my... scruples." The word dripped irony. "I've spent the last two weeks feeding false leads to every information broker in the city. Why do you think he hasn't found you yet?" The revelation knocked the wind from her sails. She sank onto the sofa's arm, suddenly exhausted. "Why would you do that?" "You know why." The words hung between them, heavy with everything they'd left unspoken. Lucien moved closer, close enough that she could see the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes, the slight tremor in his cane hand. "I couldn't give you what you wanted," he said quietly. "My nature, my business, the things I am... they're incompatible with the life you deserve. But that doesn't mean I stopped—" He broke off, jaw working. "It doesn't mean I want you hurt." "You did hurt me." "I know." They stood frozen, inches apart but separated by miles of pride and pain. Somewhere below, the curry house's music drifted up through the floorboards, a Bollywood love song that felt like mockery.