Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0ZW1D6GZ27CPGMKWEBT14

The deadbolts thumped open one by one, each metallic clunk echoing in the cramped hallway. Rory straightened, running a hand through her straight black hair as the final lock released. She hadn't ordered takeout, and Eva wouldn't be back from her lecture for hours. Anyone knocking at this hour meant trouble. She pulled the door inward, and the words died in her throat. Lucien Moreau stood in the dimly lit corridor, leaning slightly on his ivory-handled cane. His tailored charcoal suit was immaculate as always, the platinum blond hair slicked back from his forehead. Those distinctive eyes—one amber, one black—fixed on hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Rory." His voice carried that smooth French accent that had once been her undoing. "I hope I'm not disturbing you." She gripped the doorframe, her knuckles whitening. "What are you doing here, Lucien?" "We need to talk." He shifted his weight, the cane tapping softly against the worn carpet. "May I come in?" Rory stepped aside, the motion automatic despite her racing heart. As he brushed past her, his familiar scent—something like sandalwood and something older, stranger—filled her senses. The tabby cat, Ptolemy, lifted his head from where he'd been sleeping on a stack of books, his tail twitching with interest. The flat seemed to shrink around them. Books and scrolls covered every available surface, research notes threatening to avalanche from precarious piles. Rory gestured toward the only clear chair, a rickety wooden thing buried beneath Eva's latest archaeological journal. "Make yourself comfortable." Lucien's lips curved into a faint smile as he cleared the chair with precise movements, setting the journal aside. "Still Eva's research assistant, I see." "Delivery person, actually." Rory crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe she'd just abandoned. "But I help Eva with her projects sometimes." "You left your studies." It wasn't a question. "Pre-Law wasn't for me." She watched him settle into the chair, the cane resting across his knees. "I thought we agreed London was big enough for both of us to avoid each other indefinitely." "I wouldn't call that an agreement so much as your decision." His heterochromatic eyes held hers. "And avoiding you proved impossible." Rory pushed away from the doorframe, moving to the small kitchenette. She needed distance, a barrier. "Tea?" "If it's not too much trouble." She filled the kettle, her movements precise. "You always did love your tea." The words slipped out, more familiar than she'd intended. "Some habits are difficult to break." Lucien watched her, his gaze tracking her every movement. "You look well, Rory." "I'm surviving." She set two mugs on the counter, her back still to him. "London's been good to me. Most days." Silence stretched between them, filled only by the whistle of the kettle. Rory poured the water, her hands steady despite the tremor she felt inside. She placed a mug in front of Lucien, keeping her fingers from touching his. "Why are you really here, Lucien?" He wrapped his hands around the mug, his gaze dropping to the steam rising from the surface. "There's something happening in the city. Something that concerns both of us." Rory sank into the worn armchair opposite him, pulling her legs beneath her. "I don't work in your world anymore. I told you—I'm done with all that." "Our worlds have a way of colliding whether we want them to or not." He looked up, his amber eye catching the light. "Especially when it comes to you." "Is that why you're here? Because of what I am?" She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I thought we settled that. I'm just Rory. No special powers, no destiny. Just a girl from Cardiff trying to live a quiet life." "You were never just a girl from Cardiff." Lucien's voice softened. "And you were never quiet." The tension between them shifted, something older and more complicated surfacing. Rory looked down at her hands, remembering how they had once traced the sharp line of his jaw, the smooth skin of his back. Remembering how he had once looked at her like she was the only thing in his world worth seeing. "You hurt me," she said, the words quiet but heavy between them. "I know." No excuses, no justifications. Just simple acknowledgment. "It was never my intention." "Your intentions didn't matter much when you disappeared without a word." She looked up, meeting his gaze directly. "Three months, Lucien. No calls, no texts, nothing. Then you show up at my flat asking for help?" "I was dealing with family matters." His fingers tightened around the mug. "In Avaros." Rory's breath caught. "You went back? After everything they did to you?" "My father summoned me." He looked away, toward the window where the London rain streaked the glass. "One doesn't refuse the Lord of Avaros." The implications settled over her. His father wasn't just a demon lord—he was the ruler of a realm, a being of immense power and cruelty. Lucien had endured his childhood there, barely escaping to the human world as a teenager. "Are you alright?" The question slipped out, concern overriding her resolve to remain distant. Lucien's gaze returned to hers, a flicker of surprise in his dual-colored eyes. "I'm here, aren't I?" "That's not an answer." "It's the only one I have." He set his mug aside, leaning forward. "Rory, what happened between us... it wasn't just a casual fling for me. I hope you know that." "I don't know what to think anymore." She wrapped her arms around herself, a defensive posture. "One day we're planning weekends in Paris, the next you're gone without a trace." "I couldn't contact you. Avaros doesn't exactly have mobile service." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "And when I returned, I heard you'd left Cardiff. Moved to London. Started a new life." "Eva found me a place. A job." Rory glanced around the cluttered flat. "It's not much, but it's mine." "You deserve more than this." Lucien's voice was low, intense. "You deserve everything." Ptolemy chose that moment to leap into Rory's lap, purring loudly. She stroked his fur, the rhythmic motion calming her racing thoughts. "Why now, Lucien? Why come back into my life after all this time?" "Because something's coming." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "Something that affects both humans and supernatural beings. And whatever it is, it seems to be centered around you." Rory froze, her hand stilling on the cat's back. "Me? That's impossible. I'm completely ordinary." Lucien reached into his suit jacket, withdrawing a small, leather-bound book. "Eva's been researching ancient prophecies, hasn't she?" "How do you know about Eva's research?" "I know many things, Rory. It's rather my profession." He opened the book, turning to a marked page. "This symbol here—it's been appearing all over London. At supernatural crime scenes, at places of power." Rory leaned forward to look. The symbol was intricate, a series of interlocking circles with strange runes at each intersection point. "I've never seen it before." "Perhaps not." Lucien's gaze locked with hers. "But Eva has been drawing it in her research notes for weeks. Unconsciously, she told me. Almost like she's compelled to." The implications settled over Rory like a shroud. "You think this has something to do with Eva?" "I think it has something to do with both of you." He closed the book, his expression grave. "Which is why I came to you. Because whatever is coming, we'll face it better together than apart." Rory stood suddenly, the cat leaping from her lap with an indignant meow. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not getting dragged back into that world. Not with you, not with anyone." "Rory—" "No." She moved to the door, her hand resting on the handle. "You can't disappear for months, then show up expecting me to fall back into step with whatever supernatural crisis is happening this week. It doesn't work like that." Lucien rose, his cane making a soft click on the floorboards. He approached her slowly, giving her space to retreat if she wanted to. She didn't. "I never stopped thinking about you," he said, his voice low. "Not for a single day in Avaros. Not for a single night in London." Rory's breath hitched. "Don't say that." "It's the truth." He was closer now, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his amber eye, the slight stubble along his jaw. "I made mistakes, Rory. Leaving you was the biggest one." "You didn't just leave me, Lucien. You vanished." "And I'm here now." He reached out, his fingers hovering just above her wrist where the small crescent-shaped scar marked her skin. "I'm asking for a chance to explain. To make things right. To help you, before it's too late." Rory looked from his hand to his eyes, the conflict warring within her. The attraction was still there, humming beneath the surface of hurt and anger. The history between them was complicated, messy, but it wasn't nothing. "Tell me," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me everything." Lucien's fingers finally brushed her skin, sending a jolt through her system. The past and present collided in that small London flat, with nothing but books, a cat, and the rain as witnesses.