Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0W63D3MRVQ9ATDGJ1CK62

The sound of the three deadbolts sliding back was a violent grating in the quiet of the hall. Rory pulled the heavy door inward, the scent of cardamom and cumin from the curry house below wafting up to meet her. She expected it to be Yu-Fei, maybe with a forgotten delivery order or a question about her shift. Instead, she found Lucien Moreau leaning against the opposite wall, the dim hallway light catching the platinum sheen of his slicked-back hair. He held his ivory-handled cane loosely in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of a tailored charcoal suit that looked sharp enough to cut glass. His mismatched eyes, one amber, one black, fixed on her face. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant wail of a siren and the thump of a bass line from a passing car. Rory’s heart gave a painful thud against her ribs. She gripped the edge of the door, the cool metal a small anchor in a sea of sudden, unwelcome feeling. ‘Aurora.’ His voice was the same low, smooth baritone that had haunted her dreams for months. It slid over her, a velvet glove hiding iron. ‘Lucien.’ Her own voice was flat. ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘Is that any way to greet an old friend?’ He pushed himself off the wall, a fluid, predatory motion. He took a step closer, his polished shoes silent on the worn linoleum. ‘We were never friends.’ She didn’t move, didn’t back away. She refused to give him that satisfaction. ‘And you don’t just “show up”. You send a message. You have one of your little birds whisper in someone’s ear. You don’t climb three flights of stairs to a curry-scented hallway.’ ‘Perhaps I wanted a more personal touch.’ He stopped just before her, close enough that she could smell his cologne, something like sandalwood and ozone. ‘You’ve been avoiding my messages.’ ‘I’ve been busy.’ She finally stepped back, leaving the door open. An invitation she hadn’t intended to give. ‘Living my life. The one you’re not a part of anymore.’ He followed her inside, his gaze sweeping over the cramped flat. Books teetered in precarious stacks on every available surface. Scrolls were unfurled across the coffee table, weighed down by empty mugs and a half-eaten bag of crisps. A fat tabby cat, Ptolemy, blinked slowly from his perch on a pile of ancient-looking maps, then went back to sleep. Lucien’s lip curled in a faint, almost imperceptible sneer. ‘Still playing scholar with Eva, I see.’ ‘It’s called research, Lucien. Something you might understand if you ever read a book that wasn’t about bloodlines or ancient grudges.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive barrier. ‘Why are you here? I don’t have anything for you. No information, no favours. The account is closed.’ ‘You say that.’ He walked further into the room, his cane tapping softly against the floorboards. He ran a finger over a dusty stack of books, leaving a clean line in the grime. ‘But you and I both know that’s not entirely true. There are always… loose ends.’ ‘I tied up my loose ends. I walked away.’ The memory of their last meeting was a sharp, bitter taste in her mouth. Rain on a London street, harsh words, the finality of a door slamming shut. He had offered her a world, but it was a world built on shadows and compromise. A world she had chosen to leave behind for the scent of old paper and the familiar weight of a delivery bag. ‘Did you?’ He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. ‘Or did you just run? Like you ran from Cardiff. From the lawyer who couldn’t stand the sight of his own reflection in a courtroom. From the man who laid hands on you.’ His voice was soft, but every word was a carefully aimed dart. ‘You have a pattern, Laila. You run when things become… difficult.’ The use of her old name, the one only her parents and he had ever used, landed like a physical blow. Heat flooded her cheeks. ‘Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.’ ‘Why not?’ He took another step, closing the distance between them until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. ‘Because it reminds you of who you were when we met? The girl who was lost and looking for a way out? The girl who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty? I liked that girl. She had fire.’ ‘And you put it out.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘You wanted to own the fire, Lucien. Not stand in its light.’ His amber eye flared with something she couldn’t name. Regret? Anger? His black eye remained a void. He lifted a hand, his fingers hovering just beside her cheek, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. She didn’t flinch away, but every muscle in her body tensed, a wire pulled taut. ‘That’s not fair.’ ‘When have you ever been fair?’ she shot back. ‘You deal in secrets and leverage. Fairness is a currency you don’t possess.’ His fingers brushed her jawline, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt straight through her. Her breath hitched. She hated him for it. Hated that he still had this power over her, this ability to bypass her defenses with a single touch. ‘I am here about a debt,’ he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. ‘Not a favour. A debt. To me.’ ‘I don’t owe you anything.’ ‘You owe me the truth.’ His thumb traced the line of her bottom lip. She felt the callus on his skin, a roughness that contradicted his polished exterior. ‘You left without it. You just… vanished. One day you were there, a force of nature in my life, and the next, an empty space. I deserve an explanation.’ ‘You want an explanation?’ She knocked his hand away, the sudden movement breaking the spell. ‘Fine. You suffocated me. Your world is a beautiful, glittering cage, Lucien, and I could feel the bars closing in. You wanted me to be your partner, your equal, but only on your terms. Only when it was convenient. The second I questioned you, the second I had an idea that wasn’t yours, you shut me down. You made it clear I was an acquisition, not an ally.’ ‘That’s not true.’ ‘Isn’t it?’ She gestured around the room. ‘Look at this place. It’s a mess. It’s chaotic. It’s mine. I can leave a book open on the floor. I can let the cat sleep on a six-hundred-year-old grimoire. I don’t have to worry about whether the dust is upsetting your aesthetic. I am free here. With you, I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the bill to come due.’ He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on her. The familiar mask of the cool, collected fixer was back in place, but she saw the flicker of something raw in his amber eye before he shuttered it away. ‘The debt I speak of has nothing to do with us, Aurora.’ His voice was cold now, all business. ‘It’s about Eva. She’s been asking questions about the Avarosian sigils. Dredging up things that are better left buried. She’s put herself on a radar she doesn’t understand.’ Ice trickled down Rory’s spine. ‘What are you talking about? She’s just doing research. For a paper.’ ‘Eva doesn’t write papers anymore. She’s hunting. And she’s using your name to open doors that should have remained welded shut.’ He leaned his cane against the sofa, the ivory handle gleaming. ‘I’m not here for me. I’m here because your friend is about to get herself killed, and you’re the only one who can pull her back from the edge.’