Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0MK3XPFG4Q3F5WEWHS0KG

Aurora Carter was halfway through brushing her fingertips over the scattered notes on her cluttered coffee table when the sharp rap at her door jolted her. She froze, lips parted in surprise. Her brows drew together. No one had visited her unannounced in weeks—least of all, not Lucien Moreau. She hesitated for a beat, then swung the door open. There he stood in the dim hallway, taller than she remembered, dressed in that tailored charcoal suit that always seemed sketched from shadow. The ivory-handled cane rested against his palm, the blade concealed from view. His slicked-back platinum blond hair gleamed under the faint glow of the corridor light. Black and amber eyes caught her in a flicker, sharp and assessing. “I didn’t expect you,” she managed, crossing her arms. Lucien’s face was unreadable, but a faint crease in his brow betrayed some measure of tension. “I needed to see you,” he said, voice smooth but edged with something unspoken. “It’s been a long time.” She kept her stance steady, feeling her heart hammer beneath her ribs. “You could’ve called. Or sent a message.” Her voice sounded sharper than she intended. He stepped closer, just enough that she could see the faint dirt smudges on the cuffs of his sleeve. “I thought it better to do this in person. Less... ambiguity.” Her eyes flicked past him, down the narrow hall—at the cluttered chaos of her living space, the faint glow from the city bleeding in through the cracked blinds. She knew she looked tired; her dark hair was a little frayed, the shadows beneath her eyes more pronounced. Still, she didn’t step back. He studied her for a Moment, then seemed to acknowledge her unspoken defenses. “Your flat hasn’t changed much.” She allowed herself a small, guarded smile. “Getting by. Like always.” Lucien shifted his cane, the subtle clicking echoing in the silence. “I came because I need your help—your expertise. Something you’re probably more suited to than anyone.” “I’m not your fixer,” she replied, voice cool now. He held up a hand, as if in peace. “No, but I’d be grateful if you listened. I’m dealing with something... complicated. And I don’t trust anyone else.” Her mind raced. She'd exchanged fire with him before—hardly friendly exchanges. But the anger had dulled with time, replaced by a strange tug—something unresolved that still simmered beneath the surface. He seemed to read her hesitation. “There’s no one else I trust with this. Not even in the supernatural circles.” She sighed, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe. Her fingers finally loosened from her crossed arms. “What’s so urgent?” Lucien’s eyes darkened, and he looked away briefly before fixing her with a gaze that was almost pleading. “There’s a threat. Someone—something—trying to breach the boundary between worlds. If it gets through…” Her stomach clenched. That kind of darkness wasn’t new, but it never got easier to hear. She remembered their last encounter, when everything had spiraled into chaos—his rushing in, her trying to hold everything together. Foolish, maybe. But never regretted. “You think I can help,” she said softly, her voice low. He nodded. “I know you can. And I need you. Whatever’s coming, it’s too dangerous for me alone.” She looked him over, weighing the trust she could give, the memories that still hurt beneath her skin. “And you expect me to drop everything and come running?” “I wouldn’t ask if I had a choice. I know what happened between us. I’m not here to reopen old wounds, Rory. I just need your help.” She studied his face—unfaltering, earnest in a way she’d never seen before. Pain flickered behind those eyes, the kind that got under her skin despite her better judgment. “Fine,” she said finally, her voice brittle. “But you do what I say. And no funny business.” Lucien’s lips twitched in a faint smile, the first genuine one since he arrived. “Understood.” She stepped aside, giving him room. “Come in.” He shuffled past, the cane tapping softly against the faded wooden floor. Ptolemy slipped from a stack of books, curling at his feet with a soft purr. Aurora closed the door behind them, feeling the weight of their shared history pressing heavily on her shoulders. She glanced at him, noting how the lines of his face softened just slightly when he looked around her cluttered sanctuary. “You kept your place,” he said, voice quieter now. “Made it through the worst of it,” she replied, turning toward her little makeshift research station. “Got tired of moving, especially when I thought I’d be safer here.” Lucien’s gaze lingered, then shifted to the window, watching the rain streak the glass. “I wish I’d come sooner.” “You’re not exactly known for doing the straightforward thing.” She reached for her flask, pouring herself a shot of something dark and strong. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned on his cane, pensively. “This threat—we’re talking about something that could tear through worlds. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She nodded, feeling a rare ripple of unease. “I suppose I’ll need my usual tools then,” she muttered, grabbing a small vial from a cluttered shelf. He studied her in silence before speaking again. “You’ve always been the smartest person I know. If anyone can figure this out, it’s you.” She rolled her eyes and took a long sip from the flask. “Flattery won’t get you out of this, Lucien.” He chuckled softly, eyes softening. “No. But it might earn me a little more of your trust.” She looked at him, seeing the strange combination of charm and danger—the streaks of vulnerability beneath that composed exterior. It stirred something in her. Something she refused to admit outright. The rain outside intensified, tapping against the window like a heartbeat. Inside, the air thickened with unspoken words, lingering regret, and the faint, undeniable spark of something still alive between them.