Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0HETX8E506D3TYXJ80ZRX

Aurora froze when the door swung inward. A cold draft carried the faint smell of cigar smoke and rain off Brick Lane. Ptolemy slipped past her legs, tail high, stalking toward an unfamiliar silhouette in the narrow hallway. Lucien stood framed by the doorjamb, one hand resting on the ivory handle of his cane. Tailored charcoal suit clung to his broad shoulders, slicked-back platinum hair damp at the ends. One amber eye glinted. One black eye darkened. Her heart beat too loud. Four deadbolts scrolled behind her. She’d checked them before bed. He’d found a way in. He let the door close against the frame, clicking it shut with a quiet flick of his wrist. Rain dripped from the hem of his coat onto the threadbare carpet. He said nothing. She tapped a finger against the door. The scar on her left wrist pulled tight. Memories flickered in her mind like an old film reel: the morning he vanished without word, her unanswered letters, the night she’d fetch him at the station and found only an empty bench. “Lucien.” Her voice came out brittle. She stood too stiff. Feet a step apart. He dropped his cane to lean its handle against the wall. Straightened his spine until the tip of his shoe brushed Ptolemy’s tail. The cat leapt backward, padded off. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He pressed fingers together. “Your flat looked familiar.” A thin line cut his words. Familiar. He’d once known every nook here—the way evening light caught the corners of Eva’s living room, how dust motes danced above her desk lamp. Now he stood like a stranger in someone else’s life. Aurora held the door ajar, weighed her options. He offered no excuse. His jaw flexed beneath pale stubble. “I’m busy.” She stepped back. His coat brushed hers. Ptolemy reappeared, sniffing Lucien’s polished shoes. He bent to scratch the cat’s chin. His coat fell open, revealing a crimson waistcoat beneath the charcoal. “Quiet night,” he murmured. “But I needed to see you sooner rather than later.” Silence swelled between them. Rain drummed on the windowpanes behind him. Books lined every surface, their spines worn and unfamiliar. Scrolls perched atop a precarious stack. Eva’s research claimed the flat, yet Lucien’s presence swallowed it whole. “Why are you here?” Aurora narrowed her eyes. “And how did you get in past those deadbolts?” He tapped the cane handle against the floor. “I don’t think I want to ruin your night further explaining. Only need ten minutes.” Behind her, the flat stretched out cluttered. A faded sofa angled toward a window crack that overlooked the street. She recalled the laughs she’d shared here, shoulders brushing his as they’d passed a bottle of red. Nothing remained but ghosts. She drew a breath. “Fine. Ten minutes.” Turned and led him past stacks of books into the living room. He followed, coat brushing scrapbook pages pinned to the wall. She flipped on a lamp. The soft glow revealed the small crescent scar on her left wrist where she’d caught a shard of glass as a child. Lucien’s gaze flicked to it. No words. She crossed her arms, lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa. Ptolemy settled on the cushion beside her, tail wrapped around his paws. Lucien perched on the armrest, cane leaning at his side. Rain spattered against the window. Shadows from Eva’s countless notes crawled across the walls. He opened his trench coat and withdrew a slim leather folder. “I have information.” He slid it toward her. Edges worn, embossed with a symbol she didn’t recognise. Avarosian glyphs. Her stomach clenched. She stared at the folder. Glove-thin fingers flexed. Her voice went dry. “About what?” He tilted forward, one brow raised. “Evan.” Her pulse thudded. His name unlocked ache. The ex she’d fled. The one who’d left bruises on her arms, and fear on her nights. “What about him?” Lucien’s amber eye caught the light. “He’s back in London.” She jerked upright, cradle of old terror. “Where?” He clasped his hands. “I can’t tell you here. Too many eyes. But soon.” His gaze swept the room as if invisible listeners hid behind stacks of journals. She forced calm. “Why help me? You left without a word.” He winced. A flicker of regret across his face. “I had to. Danger. Responsibilities you couldn’t bear. I thought you safe here.” His gaze dropped. “I was wrong.” Anger surged. She stood and paced to the window, pressing her palm to the glass. Reflection wavered in the rain. “You left me. I had nowhere else.” A tremor shook her voice. “I spent months wondering—” He lunged forward, hand on hers at the glass. Heat of his palm burned through her sleeve. “I never wanted to hurt you.” His amber eye softened, the black one remained distant. They held each other’s gaze in the dim light. The rain tapped a relentless rhythm. Ptolemy stared at them, ears perked. Silence grew taut until Lucien cleared his throat. He let go, straightened his spine. “Evan is tied to a demon called Asgaroth. He’s hunting you. He’s already enlisted some unsavoury types in Whitechapel.” Her breath hitched. Thoughts ricocheted. Demon, Evan’s rage, his twisted alliances. She slid off the windowsill. “How do you know this?” He leaned back, cane in hand. “I intercepted a message. He seeks a trophy—something you have.” He tapped the folder. “This contains locations, names. I want your help to stop him.” She paced again, heart thundering. Books underfoot threatened an avalanche. “Why do you care?” His lips curved into something that might have been a smile. “Because I owe you.” She whirled. Rain blurred the streetlight’s glow outside. “You owe me nothing.” He stood and leaned close. Rain trickled off his hair. “I left you in danger. I can’t let that happen again.” Aurora folded her arms, searching his face. He’d changed. More lines at his temples, weariness beneath his tailored suit. Yet his voice still held that quiet command. “Fine,” she said. “Show me the evidence.” He handed her the folder and rose. “Eva’s room upstairs. More secure. Let’s move.” She bit her lip. Eva would kill her for dragging Lucien into the flat. But the fear in her chest anchored her resolve. She led him toward the narrow stairs that climbed to the one bedroom. Each step groaned as he followed. Overhead, the hall light flickered. At the top, Eva’s room lay beyond a battered door. Aurora clicked the deadbolts shut behind them. Lucien drummed his fingers against the door. In the gloom of Eva’s flat, shelves bowed under the weight of ancient tomes. Candles burned in brass holders, their wax drips frozen like tears. Aurora lit another lamp. Dust motes spun in its glow. She perched on a stool beside the bed. Lucien opened the folder. Maps sketched in midnight ink. Names sprawled in spidery script. Photos of Evan, twisted with rage, smile curled into something haunted. Notes in French and Avarosian. He translated a line: “He plans to use your blood at midnight during the solstice.” She swallowed. “He’s after my—” “A power you don’t fully understand yet.” Lucien closed the folder. “I can protect you. But I need you alongside me.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to fight demons.” He rose and regarded her. Moonlight through the window painted his face in silver and shadow. “I’ll teach you.” Her pulse slowed. His promise pulled at something beneath her defences. Old sparks reignited. She hated how her chest tightened at the thought of him by her side. She stood. Crossed her arms. “All right. But after this, you leave. No more secrets.” Lucien’s amber eye gleamed. “I’ll take that deal.” Ptolemy padded into the room, hopped onto the bed and curled at her feet. The candles guttered in the quiet that followed. Aurora reached out, touched Lucien’s hand where it hovered near her shoulder. His fingers twitched, hesitated, then wrapped around hers. The shock of contact warmed her. He exhaled. “We start tonight.” She nodded. Wheels of grit and determination ground in her mind. A fresh storm. Outside, the rain slowed to a hush. Inside the flat, two hearts bound by history prepared to face the coming darkness together.