Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0W29SRSMD3TG58MCSMTCH

Rory tossed aside her delivery bag as the knock echoed through her tiny flat, the sound almost muffled by piles of books and scrolls stacked like fortifications around her. She paused, mid-reach for a takeout container, brow furrowed. She rarely had visitors. Not unannounced ones at least. The second knock came firmer this time, a deliberate insistence that sent a jolt of trepidation through her. She brushed her fingers through her shoulder-length hair, smoothing it down as she approached the door. Peeking through the peephole revealed an unmistakable silhouette. A chill raced through her body. Why now? With a deep breath, she turned the deadbolt and swung the door open. Lucien stood on the other side, draped in a tailored charcoal suit that admired his frame, slicked-back platinum hair catching the overhead light. The low hum of London’s streets fell silent in the backdrop, as though the city itself held its breath. “Lucien.” Her voice came out steadier than her pulse. “Rory.” He leaned slightly on his ivory-handled cane, the faintest hint of a smirk unraveling on his lips — a careful mask over an uncertain greeting. “You’re looking well.” She almost scoffed, but the warmth behind the words surprised her. The tension in the doorway pulled her taut. “Come in.” She stepped back, her discomfort threading through her chest. He entered, surveying the chaos of her flat — papers strewn about, books piled precariously. Ptolemy, her tabby, slinked around his legs, judging the intruder with narrowed eyes. “Quite the impressive… collection you have here,” he commented, his gaze flicking to a scroll that peeked out from beneath a pizza box. “I’m a scholar, remember?” She forced herself to smile, but it felt brittle against memories of heated arguments and a time when they'd shared laughter rather than weighty silences. Lucien took in the room for another moment, then settled on the cramped sofa, his posture elegantly relaxed but his expression a touch pinched. “I didn’t expect to find you still here.” “Well, I like living above a curry house. The food’s good.” She crossed her arms, stubbornly leaning against the door frame. “The golden empress; you always loved a good pun.” A flicker of nostalgia sparked between them. A shared moment high above the struggles of their lives. His amber eye met hers, the black one flickering elsewhere, weighing the atmosphere, the unspoken weight of their history wrapping around them both. “It’s been a while.” He broke the silence, tilting his head as if daring her to break the fragile spell. “Three years.” The words slipped from her lips, sharp and true. “Not that I was counting.” “Still bitter, I see.” A note of teasing in his tone fell flat against the gravity of everything unsaid. “Bitter? Hardly. Just... realistic.” She pushed off the frame and moved toward the kitchen, offering both of them a break from the intensity. “Want something to drink?” “Water will do.” He watched her, studying the way she avoided his gaze. She poured a glass, the clink of ice and splash of water a lonely backdrop to their quiet fray. “Eva told me you’re working here now. Delivery?” She nodded, handing him the glass. His fingers brushed against hers, and a spark ignited, fierce and unfamiliar. “Business needs to keep moving.” “And how’s that working out?” Lucien arched an eyebrow, amusement and curiosity mingling behind the sharpness of his features. “Better than expectations, I suppose,” she shot back, determination creasing her brow. “But I’m not here to discuss me.” “Then what are we discussing?” His tone lowered, serious now, the casual banter stripped away. The air shifted, thickening between them, catalyzed by all the hurt. A myriad of memories replayed in her mind — nights spent in a haze of laughter, quiet confessions over whiskey, the inevitable fallout. A tangled mess she wasn’t ready to untangle tonight. “What’s this really about, Lucien?” She stayed firm, meeting his gaze with a challenging stare. “You didn’t just drop by for old times’ sake.” “True.” He shifted, lightening the mood with a gravity she didn’t expect. “Seems I knew you well back then. You always anticipated the question before it arrived.” “Stop dodging, Frenchman. You don’t waltz back into my life after three years unless you need something,” she pressed, exasperation breaking through. “Touché.” He crossed his legs casually, as if they were in a café rather than her cramped flat. “I’m in need of your expertise. You’ve become quite the scholar in the supernatural, haven’t you?” “Depends on the day.” She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “And why should I help you? Last time I checked, you left without explanation.” A flicker of regret crossed his features, but he recovered too quickly. “You misunderstand my intentions.” “Then enlighten me,” she replied, frustration bubbling again; the years apart vanished, and she found herself back at their last bitter clash. Lucien took a breath, his eyes searching hers. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. I need a partner. Someone with your skill set.” “Partnership or relief from guilt?” She intercepted his words, ready to put her wall back up. “A partnership.” He stood, the distance between them shrinking. “I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else to turn to.” “Not with the past we have.” The tremor in her voice betrayed her still-simmering feelings. He took a step closer, his cane resting at his side. “The past doesn’t matter if we can create a better future. Together.” “Together?” Her pulse raced, the echo of those shared nights lingering, temptingly close but fraught with trepidation. “Yes.” An earnest plea lingered in his voice, warmth washing over the icy grip of their history. “Help me, Rory. For once, leave the past where it belongs.” The heat between them ignited, a precarious dance on the edge of something raw, something familiar. “Maybe.” She turned her gaze toward the window, avoiding the pulse of his stare. “But I need the details. Why the sudden urgency?” “Let’s talk particulars.” He nodded, a flicker of hope lighting his expression. As she turned back to meet his gaze, the air felt electric, heavy with unspoken desires and complicated histories they couldn’t shake off. And while they both teetered on the brink, there remained a pulse, a heartbeat that echoed through years apart, tethering them in ways each wanted to deny. “Alright then,” she said, brushing aside the warmth. “Let’s talk.” He stepped closer, the world outside fading as the past merged with the present, leaving them cracked open and exposed, poised on the edge of an uncertain future.