Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0S48P4SYXNBQM5AD49W20

The knock came sharp and quick, echoing through the cramped flat. Rory froze, her hand hovering over the steaming cup of tea she’d just poured. Ptolemy, sprawled on the windowsill, flicked an ear but didn’t bother to look. Another knock, more insistent this time. She exhaled, running a hand through her hair as she crossed the room. “Eva, I swear if you’ve forgotten your keys again—” She yanked the door open, the words dying on her lips. Lucien stood in the hallway, his tailored charcoal suit impeccably pressed, one hand resting on the ivory handle of his cane. His heterochromatic eyes met hers—amber and black, unreadable as ever. “Hello, Rory.” Her heart skipped a beat, then hammered against her ribs. She hadn’t seen him in months, not since the argument in the rain outside Silas’ bar. Not since he’d walked away without looking back. She gripped the edge of the door, her knuckles turning white. “What are you doing here?” A faint smile played on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “May I come in?” She hesitated, her mind racing. The last time they’d spoken, the words had been sharp enough to draw blood. But he was here now, standing in her doorway like no time had passed at all. She stepped aside, letting him in. He moved past her with practiced ease, his cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. His gaze swept over the cluttered flat—the stacks of books, the scrolls unfurled across the table, the cat lounging in the patch of sunlight. “Cosy,” he remarked, though his tone gave nothing away. She closed the door, the click of the lock loud in the silence. “Cut the small talk, Luc. Why are you here?” He turned to face her, leaning slightly on his cane. “I need your help.” Her laugh was sharp, brittle. “My help? You’ve got some nerve, showing up here after everything.” “I know.” His voice was soft, apologetic. “But this is important.” She folded her arms, her crescent-shaped scar catching the light. “Important enough to drag yourself back into my life? Because last I checked, you were done with me.” His jaw tightened, a flicker of something—regret, maybe—crossing his face. “I was angry. I said things I didn’t mean.” “You meant them.” Her voice wavered, betraying the hurt she’d tried so hard to bury. “You walked away.” He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne—something dark and smoky—washing over her. “I shouldn’t have.” Her breath hitched. He was too close, his presence too familiar. She could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the amber in his eye catching the light. “Why now?” she whispered. “Because I can’t do this without you.” His hand brushed hers, tentative, almost hesitant. “I tried. I thought I could handle it alone. But I need you, Rory.” She looked away, her chest tightening. “You don’t get to say that. Not after everything.” He cupped her cheek, his touch warm against her skin. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes burned, tears threatening to spill. “Sorry doesn’t fix it.” “I know.” He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “But let me try.” Her resolve crumbled, the walls she’d built around her heart cracking under the weight of his words. She gripped his lapel, pulling him closer. “You’d better mean it this time.” His lips captured hers in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and promise. It was familiar yet new, a reminder of everything they’d lost and everything they could still have. Her fingers tangled in his hair, his cane clattering to the floor as he pulled her flush against him. Ptolemy let out a disgruntled meow, leaping off the windowsill and stalking away. They broke apart, both breathing heavily. “This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you,” she murmured, though her hands were still tangled in his shirt. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “I’ll earn it.” She smiled faintly, despite herself. “Good.” He kissed her again, slower this time, as if savoring the moment. When they parted, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank you.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re lucky I still like you, Luc.” His lips curved into a genuine smile. “Luckiest man alive.” She rolled her eyes, stepping back to retrieve his cane from the floor. “Don’t push your luck. Now, tell me why you’re really here.” He took the cane from her, leaning on it slightly. “There’s something happening in the city—something big. I need your mind, your thinking. You always see things I don’t.” She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery will get you everywhere. Details?” He hesitated, his expression sobering. “Not here. Somewhere more secure.” She nodded, understanding the unspoken warning. “Let me grab my coat.” As she turned to fetch her jacket, he caught her wrist, his thumb brushing over her scar. “Rory.” She looked back at him, his gaze intense. “I missed you,” he admitted softly. Her heart clenched. “I missed you too.” He let go, and she finished gathering her things, her mind already racing with questions. Whatever he was involved in, it was serious—serious enough to bring him back to her. They stepped out into the hallway, the door locking behind them. “Where are we going?” she asked as they descended the stairs. “Somewhere quiet. We need to talk.” She nodded, falling into step beside him. The streets of London were alive with the hum of evening traffic, the air thick with the scent of curry from the restaurant below. She glanced at him, his profile sharp against the fading light. “Don’t disappear on me again,” she said quietly. He looked at her, his amber eye catching the light. “I won’t.” She believed him.