AI Aurora pulled back the last deadbolt and yanked the door open with her elbow, phone still wedged against her shoulder.
"Look, if you swapped my order with the one from downstairs again, I swear to—"
The rest never made it out.
Lucien Moreau filled the doorway, suit charcoal and uncreased in a stairwell that smelled of frying oil and bleach. One amber eye, one black, light catching both. Rain dotted the shoulders of his jacket. His ivory-handled cane angled across the threshold like he owned the building.
Aurora's fingers slipped on the knob.
"You are not tikka masala."
His mouth twitched.
"I could fetch you some, if that helps."
She slammed the door.
Or tried to .
The cane jammed flat between door and frame with a scrape of wood. The impact shuddered up her arm. She gritted her teeth and shoved her weight into it.
"Move it, Lucien."
"Bonjour to you too, Rory."
The smooth French lilt scraped over an old nerve. Her chest clenched. The phone slid from her shoulder and thumped to the floor, screen skidding under the shoe rack.
She let go of the door.
Lucien leaned on the cane in the gap, balance easy. Water from his coat dripped onto Eva's threadbare welcome mat and formed a neat dark circle.
"How did you even— No, you know what, never mind."
Aurora planted herself in the doorway, arms folded tight. The hall's strip light buzzed above them, casting sickly yellow down the high, narrow corridor. The curry house downstairs rattled with pots and someone barking in Urdu. The whole building felt like it held its breath .
"Turn around. Walk away. Pretend this never happened."
"You always greet guests like this?"
"You are not a guest."
His gaze flicked over her, quick, measuring, like nothing about her escaped notice. Her oversized jumper dotted with cat hair, leggings, bare feet on cold lino. The crescent scar at her wrist stood out pale against her skin where her sleeve had ridden up.
"You look well."
"Don't."
Her voice came out rougher than she wanted.
He shifted his focus to a point just past her shoulder.
"Is Eva in?"
"Do I look like her receptionist? What do you want?"
"To come in."
"Try again."
His jaw worked once. The polite mask cracked a fraction. Beneath it, something sharper flashed.
"Your friend invited me. Last week. She requested a consultation. Research on Avaros. Portals. Remember those?"
Heat rose up the back of Aurora's neck.
"Eva set this up."
"She left a key under the mat. Which I did not need."
"The wards on the stairwell."
He tapped the cane against the frame.
"Outdated. Charming, though."
Of course he had sliced through Eva's protection circles and three deadbolts like wet paper. Of course he stood there with his tie straight.
Aurora blew out a breath.
"Well, congratulations. You consulted. Door answered. Consultation over."
She stepped to close it again.
His free hand shot out, palm flat against the wood inches from her face. The ring on his finger caught the light, silver sigil dull from wear.
"Rory."
Her name carried weight . Years of deals and arguments pressed into two syllables.
Her throat tightened.
"You lost the right to call me that."
"Hence why I am here."
"You lost the right to explanations too."
He studied her. Nothing moved on his face. Only his eyes altered, the flat black one swallowing the hallway glow until it looked like a piece of night lodged in his skull.
"Would you rather I walk away and leave you unprepared?"
"For what, your ego?"
"For the thing that follows me."
Silence stretched. The buzzing light wrote a line of headache across her temple.
She swallowed.
"Is someone out there?"
"Not someone."
He turned his head a fraction, nostrils flaring the way they did when he listened for sounds no human ear picked up. Rain battered the window at the end of the corridor. Somewhere below, a chair scraped across tiles. Nothing else.
"Street's clear."
"Then bye."
"Buildings leak. Wards fray. Eva knew that. She asked me to strengthen them." His hand stayed on the door, muscles at his wrist tense. "And she asked me to look in on you."
Her stomach lurched .
"She what?"
"You stopped returning her messages."
"So she sends the half-demon welcome committee."
"Who else works for free?"
"You never work for free."
"Not quite true."
His gaze dropped to her wrist. To the scar. Old memory slammed between them: his fingers slick with her blood, his shirt ruined, a warehouse floor that smelled of burnt ozone. The night everything between them went sideways.
She stepped back like his attention burned.
Water dripped from his coat hem onto the mat in slow, fat drops.
A soft thump sounded from behind her. Then a questioning yowl.
Ptolemy trotted down the hall, tail up, green eyes affronted at the open door and stranger scent. The cat brushed past Aurora's ankle, paused, then approached Lucien with cautious interest.
He crouched without thinking, cane braced against his shoulder. His hand opened, steady.
"Bonjour, petit pharaon."
Ptolemy sniffed his fingers, then bumped his head into them like they had done this before. A loud purr vibrated through the hall.
Traitor.
Aurora pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Of course he likes you. He'd cuddle Satan if Satan scratched under his chin."
Lucien rubbed the cat's cheek, expression softening for a breath.
"Did not take you for a cat person."
"I am not. Eva conned me into cat-sitting. You being here violates the terms of the arrangement."
"Does it?"
He looked up at her from that crouch, all long lines folded with impossible grace in the cramped doorway.
Ptolemy purred louder.
Aurora exhaled. The fight drained from her shoulders, leaving a familiar ache.
"You smell like wet dog and trouble. Fine. Five minutes. You mend whatever you mangled on the way in, you tell me what you think is following you, then you leave. No theatrics, no bargains, no soul clauses."
"I already hold part of your soul, chérie."
Her fingers curled on the doorframe.
"Don't call me that either."
He straightened, the leather of his shoes silent on the peeling lino. Up close, she saw the faint smear of dried blood at his collar, half-hidden by his tie. It darkened the starched white.
"You're hurt."
"It is not mine."
"Comforting."
He stepped past her into the flat.
Books rose in uneven towers across every available surface, open at odd angles, spines cracked. Scrolls lay unrolled on the coffee table, squeezed between cold tea mugs and a half-eaten naan. The air hummed with the stale tang of incense and coriander.
Lucien paused just inside, as if an invisible line crossed the threshold and pressed against him. His nostrils flared again. He dipped his head once.
"Eva never met a horizontal surface she did not bury."
"Don't pretend you care."
"I tend to care when people dabble in things from my father's homeland without supervision."
He shut the door with his heel. The deadbolts hung useless.
Aurora watched him scan the ward lines Eva had chalked along the skirting boards. His gaze caught on smudged sigils, on tiny gaps where hoovering had eaten away protective chalk. His mouth thinned.
"You have slept here with these like this?"
"It's not my flat."
"But you are here."
"When Eva's place doesn't smell like burnt sage and anxiety, I crash here after late shifts."
"Above a bar full of drunk humans is safer?"
"At least the drunks only vomit on shoes."
He moved along the wall, cane tip tracing just above the wards, eyes hooded. Proximity did strange things to the light; the faint glow from the street lamps through the thin curtains bent around him like it tried to avoid his edges.
"You still working for Yu-Fei?"
"Delivery runs, scouting, occasional unpaid exorcism when customers complain about cold spots near the toilets."
His mouth curved.
"A career trajectory."
"At least I finish my jobs."
That landed.
His shoulders went stiff for a heartbeat.
She swallowed the flicker of guilt and walked past him into the tiny kitchen. Mug abandoned on the counter, kettle full. She flicked it on, shoulders angled away.
"You want tea or you still drink those overpriced espresso shots that taste like despair?"
"Tea would be perfect ."
"Wow. Growth."
"You were a corrupting influence."
"Please. I tried to keep you alive."
"I am alive."
"Debatable."
Water began to rumble in the kettle. The sound filled the cramped space. He stood in the doorway, cane across his body like a shield, gaze following her movements with infuriating calm.
"You left."
She did not mean to say it. The words dropped out, flat.
He tilted his head.
"You know why."
"Because you decided one human liability was too much paperwork."
His eye twitched.
"Because if I stayed, you would be dead."
"I am the one who took a knife to the wrist and still had to crawl out of that warehouse while you negotiated with your charming cousins."
"If I had not negotiated, you would have crawled nowhere."
Steam burst from the kettle. She grabbed the handle, fingers tight.
"You didn't come back."
"I watched you get into Eva's car and drive away."
"From the shadows, how noble."
"The men who sold you that artefact watched as well."
Her head snapped up.
"They followed you?"
"For a while."
He stepped into the kitchen, closing the distance. Only the narrow counter separated them. The hum of the kettle merged with the thunder of her pulse .
"I removed the problem."
"Removed."
He held her gaze.
"You do not need the details."
"I am not porcelain ."
"No. You are flint. That is the problem."
Heat crept up her neck.
"You could have told me."
"If I had told you, you would have insisted on helping."
"I can handle myself."
He gestured to her wrist.
"You almost bled out on a concrete floor because you tried to handle yourself."
"You taught me to."
"Exactly."
His hand closed around the kettle plug and pulled it from the socket before it boiled dry. The grounded gesture jarred against the tension .
Their fingers brushed.
Her breath hitched.
It felt the way it always had with him; too hot, too present, like touching a live wire wrapped in silk . A single point of contact and the room narrowed to that.
He released the plug first. His jaw clenched .
"You still run cold," he murmured.
"It's London. Heating costs money."
"You did not shiver in Marseille."
"Marseille had sun. And you used to own more shirts."
"You objected to the shirts."
"I objected to your ego."
The corner of his mouth lifted.
"You did not object in that alley behind—"
"Finish that sentence and I throw you out the window."
"Top floor, Rory."
"Tempting."
Ptolemy jumped onto the counter, tail flicking. The cat sniffed at Lucien's sleeve with clear approval.
Lucien scratched under his chin.
"He has taste."
"He's neutered. His judgement is suspect."
The kettle clicked faintly as it cooled. Steam curled between them and painted his face in ghost-thin trails.
"You still owe me an explanation," she said.
"I gave you one."
"Not the real one."
"What do you think is the real one?"
"You got bored."
He blinked.
"Bored?"
"You collected me like you collect favours and secrets. Useful for a bit. Then messy. Then expendable."
The words tasted like rust. Her grip on the counter tightened.
Something cruel flickered in his features.
"Do you truly believe I risked a seal with a duke of Avaros over boredom?"
"You risk a lot of things over nothing."
"Not you."
The last word hung between them like a thrown knife.
Aurora forced a shallow laugh.
"You walked me right into that job without telling me your father's people were involved."
"I warned you it was dangerous."
"You told me it was 'challenging'. Not the same."
"If I had told you a duke had interest in that artefact, you would have refused."
"Correct."
"Which is why I did not tell you."
Her nails dug into her palm.
"You used me."
"I trusted you."
"For bait."
"For backup."
She stared at him.
"Lucien."
The name came out softer than she liked.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up.
"I miscalculated," he said.
"You do not miscalculate."
"I did that night."
She breathed, shallow. The distance between them shrank without either of them moving.
His hand rested on the counter, inches from hers. The heat of him seeped across the narrow gap. A faint scent clung to his clothes under the rain and city grime: smoke not from any London street, metal on the edge of storm.
"You left me with the pieces."
"I thought distance would keep you safe."
"It kept me angry."
"You are allowed to be angry."
"You are not allowed to show up in my doorway and act like you can fix a year with tea and ward maintenance."
Something in his face opened for a heartbeat. Weary lines carved around his mouth, the kind she never saw when he moved through clubs and council chambers all silk and smirk.
"I did not come to fix anything."
"Then what?"
"I came because Eva asked."
"Liar."
He stilled.
"Do not call me that."
"Hit a nerve."
He leaned closer, voice low.
"I came because every time I stepped into a place that smelled like cardamom and cheap paint, I checked to see if you were hiding there. Because I walked past the Golden Empress three nights in a row and did not go in, and it felt like swallowing glass. Because I heard Avaros whispered in a market this morning, and your name arrived in the same thought."
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
"You had a choice."
"I made it. I am here."
"Uninvited."
"You opened the door."
Lightning flashed in the thin square of window over his shoulder. For a moment his pupils blew wide, catching the light like an animal's.
Ptolemy sneezed and knocked into a pile of Eva's notes. Loose pages slid off the fridge and fanned across the floor.
Aurora tore her gaze away and dropped to her knees, hands reaching for crumpled paper. Ink squiggles, circles around demonic sigils, Eva's messy scrawl.
Lucien knelt opposite her without hesitation. Their heads nearly touched as they reached for the same page. Fingers collided again. Her pulse stumbled.
"Careful," he murmured. "This one burns if you smudge the ink."
"You couldn't have warned Eva of that when she drew it on the back of a Tesco receipt?"
"I did. She laughed."
"Of course she did."
Their hands hovered over the same slip. Neither moved.
Somewhere deep in the building, a door slammed. Footsteps pounded up the stairwell, a rush of boots and breath. Voices overlapped, muffled but distinct, spilling through the thin walls.
Aurora froze, fingers still brushing his.