Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0V0VGMVY3HC97G2YJNQZ4

Aurora Carter had just finished stacking the last of her research books when she heard a knock. She paused, eyebrows lifting in surprise. No one was supposed to be coming by—especially not today. Quiet moments like this didn’t happen often, and she liked it that way. She set down the book carefully, checked her reflection in the cracked mirror propped against the wall, then moved across the cluttered room to the door. For a moment, she stared through the peephole. Lucien Moreau. Her breath caught. Her hand hovered over the doorknob—a pulse fluttered in her wrist, the scar there faint but familiar. She swallowed hard, the memory rushing back—grounded and sharp. She hesitated, then pulled the door open. He was standing there in a tailored charcoal suit, a subtle smirk playing on those sharp, defined features. His platinum blond hair was slicked back, and the cane with the ivory handle rested against his side like an extension of himself. His black eye gleamed with quiet amusement. “Bonsoir, Aurora,” he said softly, voice smooth but carrying an edge of something untraceable. She stared, stunned, caught somewhere between anger and longing. “Lucien. What the hell are you doing here?” He tilted his head, eyes flickering with that peculiar amber-black gaze. “I could ask you the same thing, mon amie. I didn’t expect to find you hiding behind this door, quite honestly.” Her jaw tightened. “I don’t owe you explanations.” He shrugged as he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. His cane tapped lightly against the wooden floor as he approached her, gaze scanning her face like he was trying to read her thoughts. “You’ve always been quick. That’s one of the reasons I like talking to you.” She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not here for a social visit, Lucien. So, why now?” He paused, gaze falling on the little crescent scar on her wrist. The air between them grew dense, like the space had suddenly thickened with things they hadn’t quite said. “I needed to see you,” he admitted, voice low. “Or rather, I needed to be seen by you. You disappear for months, then you show up on my doorstep—why?” Her stomach clenched. “I’m not the one who’s been slipping away. Don’t act like you don’t know what’s happened.” He chuckled softly, slow and deliberate. “I know exactly what’s happened. I also know you’re still mad at me. That much is obvious.” His eyes lingered. “But we both know this isn’t about anger, is it?” She looked away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The cluttered mess of research notes and books around them felt suddenly claustrophobic. The scent of curry from downstairs curled through the thin walls, a reminder of life's normalcy pressing against her nerves. “Look, Lucien,” she finally said, voice clipped. “You showing up like this doesn’t fix anything. We left things unresolved—things I’m tired of pretending don’t matter anymore.” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Rory, I never stopped thinking about you. Can’t you see that?” Her breath hitched, her heart pounding erratically. The years—they had carved deep lines into her bravado. Still, she clenched her fists. “You always said you had your reasons. That you were playing a dangerous game, and I had to stay out of it. Maybe I did. But I’m over it. Over us. Or—at least—I was trying to be.” His gaze softened just a touch, but there was a flicker of something wicked beneath it. “You think letting go is that easy? You’re like this fragile glass I never dared to break, and I don’t even know if I can hold myself back anymore.” She looked at him then, the torment hidden behind that slicked-back platinum and the calm exterior. “You sound like you’re still fighting your demons.” Her voice wavered just for a moment. “Demon or not, I’m not going back to whatever you’re tangled up in.” He sighed, tipping his head. “I wish things were simple. I wish I could explain everything.” His eyes darkened briefly. “But I came here for a reason beyond words. There’s something happening that I can’t handle without you. Some danger that’s already reached parts of London where even I don’t want to go.” She studied him, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “Why now? What’s so urgent that you risk knocking on my door?” Lucien hesitated, then reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a small vial, shimmering darkly in the dim light. “This is what you need to see. And then maybe you’ll understand why I had to find you.” She took a step back; her instincts piched. “What the hell is that?” “Something that’s already here,” he said quietly. “Something I can’t face alone. You’re the only one who can.” Her pulse accelerated, but her voice remained steady. “Maybe I don’t want to be dragged back into your mess.” He looked at her, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his usual composure. “You’re already in it, Rory. You just don’t know it yet.” The silence stretched between them, thick and unyielding. The narrow line of the flat’s cluttered space suddenly felt suffocating. Outside, Ptolemy’s faint meow was the only sound breaking the quiet as Aurora stared at the vial, her mind racing.