Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0QD3SPE0904PPRZXXQ9ZK

The door swung open with a quiet protest, hinges creaking softly as if reluctant to reveal what lay beyond. Aurora Carter froze, one hand still gripping the doorframe, eyes narrowing slightly. Her brow twitched, sharp and deliberate, as she took in the figure standing there. Lucien Moreau tipped his head slightly, a hint of a crooked smile curling at the corner of his mouth. His platinum blond hair caught the dim light, slicked back as meticulously as always. Those heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—studied her as if she was a puzzle he’d yet to solve. His tailored charcoal suit looked crisp, almost untouched by the London chill, cane in hand, the ivory handle gleaming in the narrow hallway. “You weren't supposed to come,” she said, voice flat but edged with something more fragile beneath. He stepped inside, cane tapping softly against the uneven wooden floor, like a heartbeat echoing in her quiet space. “Didn’t think I had to be invited.” Aurora’s gaze flicked past him, noting the cluttered surfaces of her living room—books stacked haphazardly, notes scrawled across old parchment, a faint scent of spices from her meal still lingering in the air. Everything about her had changed since the last time she’d seen him, or maybe she’d just stopped pretending it hadn’t. He glanced around, the slightest crease of amusement touching his brow. “Your place never looked this chaotic before.” She closed the door behind him, the click echoing louder than it should've. Her shoulders stiffened. “What are you doing here, Lucien?” He leaned on his cane, gaze flickering with something unreadable. “We need to talk. About us, about everything that’s gone wrong.” Her jaw clenched. “There’s nothing to say. Not anymore.” He shifted, the heels of his shoes tapping rhythmically. “That’s what we said last time, yet here I am. Looks like some things refuse to stay buried.” She crossed her arms, eyes pinched with a mix of anger and exhaustion. “You thought showing up unannounced was gonna fix everything?” His lips curved into a slow smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. “No. But it’s a start.” The room sizzled with the tension, the kind that clung to the air, heavy and thick. Outside, the muffled sounds of Brick Lane hummed on—cars honking, distant chatter from the curry house beneath. But inside, silence snapped sharp, punctuated only when she spoke again. “Why now?” Lucien’s gaze softened, just briefly. “Because I finally understood what’s been eating away at me. I was blind, Rory. I needed to find you—to tell you something that’s been weighing on me for ages.” He paused, hesitated for just a second. “I’m sorry. That I hurt you. That I left when I shouldn’t have." Her eyes flicked away, a tear threatening but not quite falling. “Sorry doesn’t undo what you did. Sorry doesn’t erase the years I’ve spent trying to forget.” He pushed off the wall, cane clicking softly as he approached, voice lowered. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I was scared, Rory. Afraid of what I was—what I am. You—” “Don’t,” she cut in, voice trembling but firm. “You don’t get to say it. Not now.” He stopped a few steps away, watching her carefully, his face etched with regret and something deeper—longing, maybe. “You’re still the strongest person I know. And damn it, I miss what we used to have. I miss us. Can’t we just—talk?” Her guard clamped tighter around her heart. “Talking doesn’t change the past. It doesn’t erase everything I’ve managed to bury.” Lucien’s gaze softened further, and for a split second, she saw the man she’d once trusted. “I didn’t come for a fight. I just… needed to see you.” Her breath hitched. “You shouldn’t have come. Not after everything.” He stepped closer, voice a husky whisper. “No. But I had to. Because I realize now—what I should’ve said so long ago—” The door behind her suddenly felt too small. Aurora’s body tensed, every nerve stretched tight. The scar on her wrist prickled at the memory, as if warning her. “Listen,” she said, voice cracking, “you’re better off leaving now, Lucien.” He hesitated, eyes darkening, then slowly reached for his cane. “I get it. I’ve got no right to ask for anything. Just… don’t shut me out forever, Rory.” She turned, giving him her back, the words thick in her throat. Outside, the city breathed on without them. Inside, the silence held weight, unspoken words hanging between them. The faint flicker of hope or heartbreak—she couldn’t tell which—danced in her eyes. Then she sighed, shoulders sagging just a little. “Goodbye, Lucien.” He paused, then tipped his head. “Until next time.” She watched him leave, the door closing with a soft click behind him. Her hand trembled as she reached for her wrist, fingers tracing the crescent scar—a reminder of past wounds she still carried, wild hopes she dared not acknowledge.