AI Aurora's fingers trembled as she twisted the third deadbolt into place. Eva had always been paranoid, and Aurora couldn’t blame her considering the path their lives had taken. But safe behind those deadbolts, she allowed herself a sigh of relief.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Her body stiffened, a rush of adrenaline pushing through her veins. The knocks were forceful, jarring, and much too aggressive for Eva's typical visitors. Aurora's mind raced , cataloguing possibilities—debts, danger, demons—but nothing prepared her for the sight that greeted her when she pulled the door ajar with all three chains still latched.
Lucien Moreau.
He looked like he had stepped out of one of her memories, dressed in his charcoal suit that fit him like a second skin, his platinum hair catching the dim light from the corridor. One amber eye glinted; the other, black as her most guarded secrets. His ivory-handled cane rested against the doorframe, absurdly out of place in the underbelly of East London.
"Aurora," he said smoothly .
"Lucien." She struggled to keep her voice neutral, to erase that hitch of surprise that only he would notice. Her fingers reached for the door chains instinctively, but hesitation chained her to the spot. "What are you doing here?"
"May I come in?" His tone was cultured, almost bored, but there was an underlying tension that only she would detect. It wasn’t just a request, not with Lucien. It was a looming conflict wrapped in a velvet glove.
She unlaced the chains with slow deliberation. The door creaked open, wider than her comfort zone allowed. Lucien stepped inside, his cane tapping lightly on the floor, each sound a punctuation to his presence in the cramped space.
"I wasn’t expecting guests," she said, attempting to gather her scattered composure.
"You rarely do." He surveyed the room . Bookshelves groaned under the weight of tomes, scattered papers covered every surface, ink pots tipped precariously close to the edge. Ptolemy, Eva’s tabby cat, watched from his perch on a stack of books, eyes narrowing at the intruder.
"Eva’s not here," Aurora added, closing the door behind him. Her hand lingered on the handle, fighting the urge to bolt it again.
"I know. Hence my timing," Lucien replied, brows arched. He sauntered deeper into the room, his presence eating up the air. "We have unfinished business, you and I."
Unfinished business. Aurora’s pulse quickened . The undercurrent of their last encounter rippled back into her consciousness. Harsh words, heated looks, and the unmistakable press of his hand on her wrist. The crescent-shaped scar there tinged with phantom pain.
"What makes you think I want to reopen old wounds?" She moved to the cluttered table, shuffling papers just to keep her hands occupied.
Lucien’s laugh was soft, a mix of amusement and something darker. "Want? No, Aurora, I don't delude myself into thinking this is anything less than necessary."
"Necessary for whom?" She countered, her voice sharper than intended. Guilt flickered . "What trouble are you in this time, Luc?" It slipped out before she could stop it.
"Your faith in me warms my heart," he murmured, voice dripping with sarcasm. He tapped the cane against the floor rhythmically. "The same old trouble, I suppose. Demons from Avaros don’t learn new tricks."
She snorted, a bitter smile pulling at her lips. "And what does my humble abode have to do with them?"
He took a step closer, the air thickening with unspoken words. "Information, Aurora. You seem to have developed a knack for stumbling upon fascinating tidbits, the sort of tidbits that save lives, or end them."
"I don’t work for you," she said, matching his intensity , eyes locked on his mismatched ones. Damn those eyes. They hid more than they revealed, yet she was always drawn to them like a moth to a dangerous flame.
His lips twitched into a near smile. "Perhaps not anymore. But let’s not pretend our interests don’t occasionally align."
She brushed past him, heading to the kitchenette, more to escape his gravitational pull than out of any need for tea. Still, the ritual calmed her. "Tea?" She didn’t wait for his reply before filling the kettle.
"Always hospitable," he observed, leaning against an old wingback chair that had seen better days.
Old habits die hard. "Strange, isn’t it?" she murmured, setting the kettle on the stove. "One would think such hospitality borders on madness."
"Madness runs in good company."
The kettle hissed, steam swirling through the air. She kept her back to him, focusing on the rising water, letting the silence stretch.
"You left," he said quietly, breaking the stillness. "And now you’re hiding."
She turned, her resolve firmer. "I didn’t leave." The words carried a weight past betrayal and sacrifice. "I escaped."
"From him," Lucien corrected, eyes softening for the briefest moment . "But also from me."
"You were part of the issue." She met his gaze head-on. "A complication I couldn’t afford."
He nodded, admitting without words what both knew to be true. "Yet here we are. Fate has an irritating way of weaving old threads."
Before she could respond, a loud crash echoed from the front. The deadbolts rattled as the door shivered under the force. Her heart raced , reality slamming into her senses.
"Friends of yours?" she taunted, though her grip on the tea mug turned vice-like.
He grabbed his cane, slipping the thin blade free with an elegance that belied the danger. "Not quite."
A second crash, followed by muffled growls. Demons don’t usually knock.
Lucien moved quickly , his form a dark whip as he approached the door. "Brace yourself, Aurora."
She barely had time to react before the third crash shattered the door. Figures cloaked in shadow flooded the room, hissing, growling, their eyes a menacing glint in the dim light. Aurora reached for the carved wooden dagger on the shelf, her body on autopilot even as her thoughts tangled in a web of fear and determination.
Lucien was a flurry of precise strikes, the blade in his hand slicing through the air, trailing a faint shimmer of magic. He moved with lethal grace, every strike a punctuation of brutal efficiency. But for every demon that fell, two more seemed to take its place, a relentless tide of darkness.
"Aurora!" Lucien's shout cut through the chaos. "The sigil on the window. Activate it!"
She sprinted towards the window, every step a battle through the writhing shadows. Her fingers found the hidden latch, a rush of ancient runes glowing as she chanted hurried words. The air around the window shimmered , a protective barrier flaring into being just as a clawed hand swiped at her.
Lucien was at her side in an instant, his cane-blade a whirling defence as he covered her. "We need to go. Now."
"We can't just—" her protest cut off by the fierce look in his mismatched eyes.
"They won't stop," he hissed, "Not until they tear this place apart and us with it."
There was no hesitation now, no room for old wounds or unresolved feelings. She nodded, eyes scanning for the quickest escape route. Lucien pulled out a vial, smashing it to the floor. Smoke erupted, thick and blinding, cloaking their retreat.
"Follow me," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument .
They moved as one, slipping through the narrow hallways, every step a dance with shadows and danger. The back door loomed ahead, their last shot at escape. Lucien kicked it open, the night air a cold slap against their faces.
Safe for now, but not for long.
"We're not done," she panted, gripping his arm tighter.
"We never were," he replied, pulling her into the safety of the night, leaving the chaos and shadows behind.