Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0FEHVXHEDNTM6JX1M50GE

The knock on the door startled Rory, the spoon she was holding clattering into the sink. She froze, the sound echoing through the cramped flat. Ptolemy leaped off the counter, tail flicking as he disappeared into the bedroom. Three sharp raps followed—firm, deliberate, unmistakable. Her chest tightened. No one knocked like that except him. She wiped her hands on her jeans and approached the door, her breath shallow. She peeked through the peephole, and there he was. Lucien Moreau stood in the dim hallway, his tailored charcoal suit immaculate as always, the ivory handle of his cane gleaming under the flickering light. His heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—were fixed on the door, as if he already knew she was watching. Rory hesitated, her hand hovering over the deadbolts. “I can hear you breathing, Rory,” he said, his voice smooth and low, carrying that faint French accent that always made her pulse quicken. “Open the door.” She exhaled sharply and unlocked the door, pulling it open just enough to glare at him. “What do you want, Luc?” He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” “Friend?” she scoffed, her grip tightening on the doorframe. “You’ve got a funny definition of that word.” His smile faded, replaced by something softer, more earnest. “May I come in?” She hesitated again, her heart pounding. The last time they’d seen each other, it had ended in a bitter argument, words hurled like knives that left wounds neither of them had bothered to mend. She’d sworn she wouldn’t let him back into her life, and yet here he was, standing on her threshold like he belonged there. “Fine,” she muttered, stepping aside. “But make it quick.” He entered the flat with his usual grace, his cane tapping lightly against the floor. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the chaos of books, scrolls, and notes scattered across every surface. Ptolemy reappeared, padding cautiously toward him, his tail twitching. Lucien crouched down, extending a hand. The cat sniffed it briefly before rubbing against his fingers, purring softly. “Traitor,” Rory muttered under her breath. Lucien straightened, his gaze shifting to her. “Still keeping the same mess, I see.” “It’s organized chaos,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “And it’s none of your business.” He tilted his head, studying her with that intensity that always made her feel exposed. “You’ve changed your hair. It’s shorter.” She self-consciously tucked a strand behind her ear. “Cut it last month. What do you want, Lucien?” He took a step closer, his presence filling the room. “I needed to see you.” “Why?” she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended. “After everything you said—after everything you didn’t say—why now?” He didn’t answer immediately, his expression unreadable. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to her. She took it reluctantly, her fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. The contact sent a jolt through her, and she quickly looked away, unfolding the paper. Her breath caught as she read it—government letterhead, a list of names, hers circled in red ink. Her stomach dropped. “What is this?” “A warrant,” he said quietly. “They’re looking for you.” Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Why? What did I do?” “Nothing,” he replied, his tone calm but firm. “But someone’s framing you for the theft at the Museum of London. Artifacts worth millions. They’ve got evidence linking you to the crime.” “Evidence?” she repeated, her voice trembling with anger. “What evidence?” “Footage from the security cameras. Someone who looks like you was caught on tape.” She stared at him, her mind racing. “That’s impossible. I was here that night. Eva can vouch for me.” “Will she?” he asked, his gaze piercing. “Or will she tell them the truth—that you were out doing deliveries for Yu-Fei, no solid alibi?” Her fists clenched, crumpling the paper in her hand. “This is bullshit.” “It is,” he agreed. “But unless you want to spend the next few years in prison, you need to let me help you.” She shook her head, stepping back. “No. I’m not doing this with you again. I’m not—” “Rory,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “This isn’t about us. This is about your life. Your freedom. Don’t let pride get in the way.” She glared at him, her chest heaving with suppressed anger and fear. “You don’t get to waltz back in here and act like the hero. Not after the way you left.” His jaw tightened, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “I didn’t have a choice.” “Bullshit,” she spat. “You always have a choice. You just chose yourself.” He stepped closer, his voice low and urgent. “I chose to protect you.” “From what?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You never told me. You just disappeared.” His eyes darkened, his hand tightening on the cane. “From things I couldn’t involve you in. Dangerous things. Things you wouldn’t understand.” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle. I’m not some damsel in distress you need to shield from the big, bad world.” “I know that,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I couldn’t risk losing you.” Her breath hitched, the anger in her chest faltering. She looked away, her throat tight. “You already did.” He reached out, gently touching her arm. She flinched but didn’t pull away. “Let me fix this,” he said, his tone pleading. “Let me make it right.” She hesitated, her mind torn. She wanted to trust him, to believe that he had her best interests at heart. But the wounds he’d left were still raw, the pain of his abandonment lingering like a shadow. “Why should I?” she whispered, her voice breaking the silence. He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Because I still care about you. Because I never stopped.” Her breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to believe him, to let herself fall back into the comfort of his presence, but the fear of being hurt again held her back. “Please, Rory,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “Let me help you.” She closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Don’t make me regret this.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “I won’t.” For a moment, she allowed herself to lean into him, to feel the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It felt like coming home, like finding a piece of herself she’d thought was lost forever. But the weight of everything unsaid hung between them, a reminder of the journey they still had to navigate. She pulled back, her eyes meeting his. “We need to figure this out. Together.” He nodded, his grip on her hand firm. “Together.” The determination in his gaze mirrored her own, a silent promise that they’d face whatever came next side by side. And for the first time in months, Rory felt a flicker of hope.