Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0M32R3AXTFD4MN7AWH18E

The door opened a crack, revealing one bright blue eye peering through the security chain. Rory's stomach dropped to her trainers. "Bloody hell." She fumbled with the chain, her fingers trembling against the cold metal. Three months. Three months since she'd walked out of that hotel room in Prague without a backward glance, leaving Lucien Moreau sprawled across rumpled sheets with her lipstick still smeared on his collar. The chain clattered free. She pulled the door wide, and there he stood in the narrow hallway of Eva's building, immaculate as ever in his charcoal suit despite the late hour. His platinum hair caught the flickering light from the corridor's single bulb, and those mismatched eyes—amber and black—fixed on her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. "Bonsoir, Aurora." His voice still carried that smoky French accent that had once made her knees weak in a Prague safehouse. Now it just made her angry. "Don't." She gripped the doorframe. "Don't you dare 'bonsoir' me like nothing happened." Lucien's ivory cane tapped against the worn carpet as he shifted his weight. A habit she remembered from their long nights strategising over maps and stolen intelligence. "May I come in?" "Depends. Are you here to finish what we started, or are you planning to disappear again when morning comes?" Something flickered across his face—regret, perhaps, or pain. It vanished so quickly she might have imagined it. "That is not how it was." "No?" Rory stepped back, letting him enter. "Then enlighten me, Luc. Because from where I stood, you got what you needed from me and vanished the moment your contact showed up." He moved past her into Eva's cramped sitting room, his presence instantly making the space feel smaller. Books and scrolls covered every surface, Eva's research spilling from desk to floor to coffee table. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, watched from his perch atop a stack of grimoires with feline disdain. "Your friend has been busy." Lucien gestured at the controlled chaos with his cane. "Eva's always busy. Unlike some people, she doesn't abandon her work halfway through." The barb hit home. His jaw tightened, and he turned to face her properly. "You think I abandoned you." "I know you did." Rory crossed her arms. "Question is why you're here now. Last I heard, you were setting up shop in Berlin. New contacts, new territory. New bed partners, probably." "There has been no one else." The words hung between them, simple and stark. Rory felt her breath catch, but she forced herself to stay steady. "Liar." "I have many faults, cherie, but dishonesty is not among them. Not with you." He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne—cedar and smoke, expensive and distinctly him. Close enough to see the exhaustion carved into the lines around his eyes. "Then why?" Her voice cracked despite her best efforts. "Why did you leave without a word? I woke up and you were gone. No note, no explanation. Just... gone." Lucien's hand tightened on his cane. For a moment, she thought he might not answer. Then he looked at her with those strange, beautiful eyes, and she saw something raw and unguarded there. "Because I am not good for you." "That's not your choice to make." "Is it not?" His accent thickened, the way it always did when he was emotional. "You know what I am, Aurora. What I come from. The blood that runs in my veins is not entirely human." "You think I care about that?" "You should." He moved away from her, putting the safety of distance between them. "My father's realm does not let go easily. There are... expectations. Debts that must be paid." Ptolemy leaped down from his book tower, padding over to wind around Lucien's ankles. Traitor cat. Even Eva's familiar had always liked him better than was sensible. "So you ran." Rory's voice was flat now, emotionless. "Without giving me a choice in the matter." "I protected you." "You broke my heart." The words slipped out before she could stop them. Lucien went very still, his knuckles white where they gripped his cane. "Aurora..." "No." She held up a hand. "You don't get to 'Aurora' me. Not after what you did." She moved to the kitchenette, needing something to do with her hands. The kettle sat cold on the hob—Eva was probably at the British Library again, pulling another all-nighter with her research. Rory filled it with water, her movements sharp and precise. "Why are you here, Lucien? And don't feed me some rubbish about missing my sparkling personality." Behind her, she heard him shift. The soft tap of his cane against the floor. "There is a problem. In Cardiff." Ice flooded her veins. She spun around, kettle forgotten. "What kind of problem?" "The kind that involves your parents." The bottom fell out of her world. She gripped the counter for support, her mind racing through possibilities, each worse than the last. "They're in danger?" "Not directly. Not yet." Lucien's voice was gentle now, professional. "But there have been... incidents. Strange occurrences around your father's law firm. Your mother's school. Things that suggest supernatural interest." "What kind of things?" "Shadows that move independently. Electronics failing in specific patterns. Witnesses reporting voices in languages that predate human civilization." Rory's laugh came out bitter and sharp. "So you need me. That's why you're here. Not because you actually—" "No." The word cut through her accusation like a blade. "I am here because I could not bear the thought of anything happening to you. The job is secondary." She stared at him, searching his face for the lie. Found none. "The people I work for now, they know about our history. They know you have skills they need. But Aurora..." He stepped closer, his voice dropping low. "I volunteered for this assignment. I fought for it." "Why?" "Because I am selfish enough to want to see you again, even if you hate me for it."