Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0N5SCY929MBK3KPZAKP5V

Thethree deadbolts grated against the metal frame, one after another, a harsh rhythm in the quiet hallway. The curry house downstairs had shut down for the night, leaving only the faint, lingering scent of cumin and fried onions seeping up through the floorboards. Aurora turned the final lock and pulled the heavy door inward, expecting a takeaway delivery or perhaps Eva having forgotten her keys again. The hallway light flickered, casting a sickly yellow hue over the man standing on the threshold. He didn’t belong in the peeling paint and cramped landing of Brick Lane. He belonged in a high-rise in the City or a shadowy basement in Soho, somewhere the lighting was deliberate and the scents were expensive cologne rather than spicy takeout. Aurora’s hand froze on the doorknob. Her breath hitched, a sharp intake that she couldn’t suppress. Lucien Moreau stood there, immaculate in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than the entire contents of the flat behind her. His platinum blond hair was slicked back, highlighting the stark contrast of his eyes—one amber, one void black. He leaned slightly on an ivory-handled cane, the silver tip resting on the threadbare carpet. "Miss Carter." His voice was a low rumble, the French accent curling around the vowels like smoke. Aurora slammed the door. She moved fast, but he moved faster. The ivory tip of his cane jammed into the gap before the wood could meet the frame. A splinter of wood cracked off, flying past her ear. She threw her weight against the wood, gritting her teeth, but the leverage was all his. He pushed back, inexorable and calm. "Aurora. Open the door." "Go away, Lucien. I’m not playing this game." "This is not a game. Move your hand." "I’m calling Silas." "Silas cannot hear you from down the stairs, and your phone is on the sofa." She hesitated. He was right. She’d left her phone charging in the kitchen. The pressure against the wood increased, not violent, but relentless. Like a tide. He stepped inside, forcing her back. He closed the door with a soft click that was louder than a shout. He engaged the deadbolts, one by one, locking them in together. The flat felt suddenly smaller. The stacks of books, the towers of scrolls, the research papers covering every inch of the dining table usually felt like a comforting blanket of chaos. Now, with Lucien standing in the center of the room, they felt like clutter. He smoothed the lapel of his jacket, his gaze sweeping over the room with critical detachment before landing on her. "You look well." "I look busy. Get out." "And here I was, preparing a gratitude speech." "Gratitude?" Aurora crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her biceps. The small crescent scar on her left wrist throbbed, a phantom ache from an old injury, but her focus was entirely on the man in front of her. "For what? Ruining my life? Or just the part where you decided you knew what was best for me?" Lucien walked further into the room. He avoided a pile of occult journals with practised grace, the cane tapping a soft rhythm on the floorboards. Ptolemy, Eva’s tabby cat, wound his way around Lucien’s trouser legs, purring loudly. "Traitor," Aurora muttered. Lucien bent down. He scooped the cat up with one hand, scratching him behind the ears. The amber eye focused on her, intense and unyielding. "Evan is in Glasgow. He will not return. You are safe." "I was safe before you decided to play judge and jury. I had a handle on it." "You had a restraining order and a fear that kept you awake at night. Now you have peace." "I have a criminal record for a bar fight I didn't start because of your 'fixers'!" Lucien placed Ptolemy gently on top of a stack of books. The cat settled in, kneading the paper. "Expunged. You know this." "I know you made a call. I know you pulled strings. And I know I didn't ask you to." She turned away, marching into the kitchenette to put distance between them. She needed water. She needed air. The small space was suffocating. She grabbed a glass from the drying rack, her hand trembling slightly. "You never ask, Rory. That is the problem." He was behind her. She hadn’t heard him move, but suddenly he was there, leaning against the narrow doorframe, blocking the exit. The scent of him hit her—sandalwood and ozone and something metallic, like the air before a storm. It overwhelmed the curry smell. "Don't call me that." "It is your name." "It’s what you called me when you were lying to me." "I never lied." "You omitted. You twisted. You manipulated. Same difference." Aurora turned on the tap. The water rushed out, loud in the silence. She filled the glass, staring into the swirling liquid. She couldn't look at him. Looking at him brought back the nights in the archives, the way his amber eye would soften when he looked at her, the feeling of his hand on the small of her back guiding her through a crowded room. The memory was a physical pain, sharp and jagged. "Eva isn't here." "I know. I did not come for Eva." Aurora shut off the tap. The silence rushed back in, heavy and charged. "Then why?" "Because I heard a rumor." She turned, leaning back against the counter. The cold edge dug into her spine. "You always hear rumors. That’s your business." "This one concerns you. Something is moving in the underground. Something that smells of the old magic. The kind you left behind." "I left the law, Lucien. Not the world." "You left everything. You ran here, hid yourself in this—" he gestured vaguely at the flat, "this paper fortress. But the shadows are lengthening. And you are connected, whether you like it or not." "I’m a delivery girl now. I carry noodles. I don't carry prophecies." He stepped closer. The kitchen was tiny. With one step, he was inside her personal space. She could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his pupils dilated. "You carry more than noodles. You carry that mark on your wrist." She instinctively pulled her left arm behind her back, hiding the scar. "That was an accident." "Was it?" "It was a glass table when I was six. You know this." "I know what you tell people. I know what you tell yourself." "Get out." She tried to push past him, but he caught her arm. His grip was firm, warm through the sleeve of her shirt. He didn't hurt her, but he didn't let go. The touch sent a jolt through her system, a dangerous mix of adrenaline and attraction she hated herself for feeling. "Let go." "Look at me." She looked up. The mismatched eyes bored into hers. The amber one swirled with something that looked dangerously like regret. "I did what I did because I could not watch him hurt you. Not again." "I never wanted a savior. I wanted a partner." "Partnership requires equality. You were drowning, Aurora. I threw you a rope." "You threw me an anchor." He released her arm, but he didn't step back. He raised a hand, his fingers hovering near her face, as if to touch her cheek, but stopped inches from her skin. His jaw tightened. "I would burn this city down before I let him touch you again." Aurora swallowed hard. Her heart hammered against her ribs, betraying her composure. She remembered the way he looked in the rain that night, the water dripping from his hair, the blood on his knuckles that wasn't his own. He was terrifying and beautiful, and she had fallen for him exactly because he was broken in the same places she was. "You don't get to make that choice for me." "Someone has to." "No. That’s where it ends. I make the choices now." She stared him down, refusing to break eye contact. The air between them crackled, the unsaid words hanging heavy in the cramped kitchen. The attraction was still there, a pull like gravity, but it was tangled up with the hurt. She wanted to kiss him and slap him in the same breath. Lucien lowered his hand. He stepped back, the moment breaking. He adjusted his cufflinks, the mask of the indifferent fixer sliding back into place. "Very well. You make the choices." "Then choose to leave." "I will leave. When I know you are safe for the night." "I have three deadbolts. I have a cricket bat under the bed. I’m fine." "And a cat that would likely aid a burglar." "Ptolemy has good instincts." "Does he?" Lucien glanced back toward the living room where the cat was sleeping. "He likes you. That worries me." "He likes everyone who feeds him." "Then he has poor taste." Aurora let out a short, sharp exhale that wasn't quite a laugh. The tension in her shoulders dropped an inch. "Why are you really here, Lucien?" He looked at her for a long moment. The mask slipped, just a fraction. The amber eye seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. "Because I missed you." The words hung in the air, raw and unpolished. Aurora felt the breath leave her lungs. She gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. "Don't." "It is the truth." "It doesn't change anything." "It changes everything." He turned and walked out of the kitchen. Aurora listened to his footsteps crossing the living room, the tap of the cane growing fainter. The front door clicked open. The cool air from the hallway drifted in, chasing away the scent of ozone. "Rory." She didn't move. She stared at the water glass on the counter, watching a droplet slide down the side. "The locks," he said, his voice coming from the doorway. "Use them." The door clicked shut. The deadbolts didn't slide home. Aurora stood alone in the kitchen, the silence of the flat pressing in on her. She reached out and touched the spot in the air where his hand had been, her fingers trembling. The curry smell from downstairs seemed stronger now, cloying and heavy, but underneath it, she could still smell the sandalwood. She waited. She counted to ten. Then she walked to the door, threw the locks, and leaned her forehead against the cool wood.