AI Aurora’s hand froze mid-air, a half-eaten prawn cracker poised before her mouth. A sharp, insistent knocking cut through the muffled din of Brick Lane. Three rapid-fire raps, then a pause, then two more. Too deliberate for a neighbour, too polite for a delivery. Eva, forever buried beneath a mountain of occult ephemera, hadn’t stirred. Ptolemy, the tabby, merely twitched an ear from his perch atop a precarious tower of grimoires.
She dusted the cracker crumbs from her fingers onto a napkin, rising from her cross-legged position on the rug. The worn floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet as she padded toward the door. Through the scratched-up peephole, a blurry figure stood on the landing. Tall. Platinum blond hair, slicked back. A dark, tailored suit. Her stomach dropped.
Aurora didn’t open the door. She didn’t even breathe. One amber eye, one black, stared back at her through the distorted lens. Lucien.
He knocked again, a little louder this time. “Aurora. I know you’re in there." His voice, a low rumble, penetrated the thick wood. “We need to talk."
Her hand brushed the cold metal of the three deadbolts, her fingers tightening on the nearest one. Talk? After three months of radio silence ? After the way he’d just… gone?
"Aurora, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be." A hint of irritation laced his usually smooth tone. "You know I can wait all night."
A chill snaked up her spine, not from the draft, but from the unyielding resolve in his voice . He *would * wait. He would stand there, perfectly composed, until she gave in. She knew that much about Lucien Moreau.
With a sigh that hitched in her throat, she unlatched the first bolt, then the second, the clicks echoing too loudly in the small flat. Her hand hovered over the third, the final barrier. What was she doing? She could just walk away, leave him out there. But a perverse curiosity, a need to know why he’d suddenly reappeared, tugged at her.
She pulled the door open, just a crack, and sunlight spilled into the dim hallway, illuminating the slight dust motes dancing in the air. Lucien filled the doorway, a stark silhouette against the bright afternoon. He looked exactly as she remembered, every inch the impeccably dressed fixer. He held his ivory-handled cane, the wolf's head grip gleaming , a silent sentinel by his side.
His gaze swept over her, a slow, deliberate assessment from her messy bun to her paint-splattered joggers. A flicker of something – surprise? amusement? – crossed his heterochromatic eyes before settling into his familiar , guarded expression.
“Well, this is a charming welcome,” he drawled, a corner of his mouth twitching upwards.
Her jaw tightened. “What do you want, Lucien?” Her voice came out sharper than she intended, brittle with a mix of anger and something else she refused to name.
He leaned against the doorframe, radiating an effortless composure that grated on her nerves. “May I come in?”
“No.” She hugged her arms across her chest, feeling suddenly aware of her worn t-shirt and the lingering scent of stale takeaway that clung to Eva’s flat.
Lucien merely raised an eyebrow , a silent challenge. He didn't move, but the sheer force of his presence seemed to shrink the already miniature hallway. The warm scent of his expensive cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something subtly metallic, wafted into the flat, stirring a unwelcome memory in her.
"I imagine Eva won't mind. She's rarely bothered by visitors." He glanced past her, his gaze lingering on a towering stack of scrolls near Ptolemy. "Unless you've found a way to make her less… hermit-like since last we spoke."
She bristled. The "last we spoke" had been a curt phone call three months ago, him telling her he was leaving London for "business," no further explanation. Then silence .
“Why are you here, Lucien?” Her voice was low, a deliberate effort to keep it steady.
He pushed off the doorframe, a small, almost imperceptible shift that felt like an invasion . “I need your help, Aurora.”
The words hung in the air , heavy with unspoken history. Her help. After everything.
She scoffed, a genuine, mirthless sound. “My help? You just show up out of the blue, three months later, and you expect me to just… what? Drop everything?”
His expression remained impassive. “It’s important.”
“Everything is important to you, Lucien.” She remembered too well his pronouncements about the delicate balance of the supernatural underworld, his insistence on certain protocols. His world had always come first.
He took a step forward, and she instinctively recoiled, bumping her elbow on the wall. He stopped, a bare foot between them, and his gaze softened, just a fraction.
“I know this isn’t ideal, Rory.” The familiar nickname, a gentle murmur, caught her off guard. It was the name he’d used when they were alone, when his guard dropped, when…
She pressed her lips together, willing the unexpected rush of warmth in her chest to subside. “Ideal is you not appearing on my doorstep, ever again.”
His eyes, one amber, one black, searched hers, as if looking for something hidden beneath her anger . “I wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a necessity.”
“A necessity that couldn’t wait three months?” The questions spilled out, tinged with the bitterness that had been simmering within her. “A necessity that couldn’t warrant a call? An email? A text, even?”
He flinched, a subtle tightening around his eyes. “I had… complications.”
“Complications.” She repeated the word, tasting its inadequacy. “That’s what you call it when you disappear without a trace? No explanation, no goodbye, just gone?”
He gripped the head of his cane, his knuckles white. “I never intended to hurt you.”
“You didn’t intend to?” She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “What did you intend, then? For me to just forget you existed? To move on like nothing happened?”
“I hoped you would .” His voice was low, almost a whisper . “It was… simpler that way.”
The air crackled between them. Simpler. That was his justification? For the sleepless nights, the constant replaying of their last conversation, the ache in her chest that just wouldn’t go away?
“Simpler for who, exactly?” She challenged, her voice rising . “For the man who just walks out on people? Or for the person left to pick up the pieces?”
He met her gaze, his expression unreadable , but a faint flush crept up his neck. “I thought I was doing what was best.”
“Best for whom, Lucien?” She stepped back, putting distance between them. The small flat suddenly felt suffocating. “Because it certainly wasn’t best for me.”
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability. When he opened them, his gaze was steady, though still holding that hint of regret.
“I understand your anger, Aurora. I do. And you have every right to it.” He paused, searching for the right words. “But this situation… it’s bigger than us. Bigger than any past grievances.”
“It always is, isn’t it?” She shook her head, a tight, sarcastic smile playing on her lips. “Your grand schemes, your secret world, always taking precedence.”
He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of something ancient . “This isn’t one of my ‘grand schemes.’ This is a threat. A dangerous one.”
She remained unconvinced, her skepticism a shield against the unexpected rush of emotions he always evoked in her. “What kind of threat?”
“One that involves both our worlds, Aurora.” He took another small step, closing the distance she’d just created. “And one that requires your unique… insight.”
Her unique insight. He meant her ability to connect the dots, to see patterns others missed, her knack for unconventional thinking. He’d always appreciated that about her, even admired it.
“And if I say no?” Her voice was barely a whisper now, her anger battling with that insistent, unwelcome curiosity. And something else, something she couldn’t quite articulate; a magnetic pull that had always existed between them, despite everything .
He regarded her, his gaze unwavering . “Then I will have to find another solution. But it will be a far less… elegant one. And potentially more hazardous for everyone involved.”
The implicit threat hung in the air , not to her directly, but to the delicate balance of the world he inhabited, a world she’d only glimpsed through his stories and the occasional perilous adventure they’d shared. And, she knew, a world that she, too, was now intrinsically linked to.
She stared at him, the man who had vanished from her life only to reappear as if no time had passed, bringing with him the familiar chill of danger and the lingering warmth of a complicated past. His tailored suit, his sharp features, the way he held himself – everything about him spoke of a world beyond the ordinary.
“Tell me,” she finally said, her voice laced with resignation. “Tell me what this ‘necessity’ is.” She stepped aside, a small, defeated gesture. “But don’t think for a second this means anything has changed between us, Lucien Moreau.”
His gaze flickered , a momentary softening that she almost missed. He didn’t reply, just stepped across the threshold, bringing with him the scent of expensive cologne and the undeniable weight of their shared, complicated history. The door swung shut behind him with a soft click, plunging the small hallway back into semi-darkness.