Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR7BVYPN5YRMHE9RNK1EZP

Aurora Carter stood in the narrow hall of Eva’s flat, fingers curled around the doorframe, holding it open just enough to see the figure on the other side. The familiar silhouette paused, hesitating in the shadows. Bright blue eyes flicked upward, catching the faint flicker of a cigarette glow, then widened in disbelief. Lucien Moreau. He leaned casually against the doorjamb, the ivory handle of his cane twirling absentmindedly between his fingers. The tailored charcoal suit clung to him, pressed and sharp, yet there was an ease to his stance that suggested he belonged there—almost as if he’d never left. His dark, slicked-back hair caught the flickering light from the corridor, and the heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—locked onto her. Rory’s breath caught. Her mind scrambled to find a reason for him to be here, memories flooding in—things she’d tried not to think about after they parted, after everything exploded between them. She blinked, trying to steady herself, then spoke. “What are you doing here?” He shifted, half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I could ask you the same thing. Should I come in?” “No—yes, I mean.” She hesitated, tongue stumbling over her words. “It’s late, Lucien. What’s this about?” He extended a hand, letting his cane dangle by his side. “I need to talk to you.” Her gaze flicked past him, down the hall to her cluttered living space. Books balanced precariously on the edge of a table, scrolls spilled over a chair, and Ptolemy, her tabby cat, stretched lazily on a pile of research notes. The scent of spices from the curry house below mingled with the faint scent of smoke and old memories. Rory’s chest tightened. “You should’ve called. Or—” “Should’ve what? Come tonight? Tell you I was here?” His voice was low, almost velvet, but edged with something unreadable. “I had to see you. After everything.” She didn’t lower the door. “After everything, you mean?” He took a step closer, voice softening. “You know what I mean. I didn’t come back to cause trouble. Just to talk. Please.” Could she pretend for a moment that the past didn’t threaten to topple her? Her pulse hammered, and her fingers clenched the doorframe tighter. Behind her, Ptolemy’s paws stirred, but the cat stayed put, watching with bright green eyes. “You break into my flat,” she finally said, voice rough. “And now you want to talk?” Lucien’s eyes flicked down the hall, then back again, dark and intense. “I didn’t plan this. I just… I needed to see you again. I shouldn’t have waited so long.” Her jaw clenched. “And I suppose you thought I’d be thrilled?” He shrugged, a flicker of something like remorse crossing his face. “No. I thought maybe I’d get to see if you still—” “Still what?” She cut him off, voice shaking. “Care? Remember what we had?” “That’s why I’m here,” he said softly, voice strained. “Because I remember. And I can’t forget. Not without trying to set things straight.” Her mind spun. Every instinct told her to shut him out, to slam the door, block him from her life again. But something in his voice begged her to listen. The softness. The regret. The longing. “I’m not sure I want to hear this,” she admitted, voice quieter now. He hesitated. Then, with a measured grace, he moved past her, into the flat. His steps echoed softly on the worn floorboards. He didn’t look at her as he took a few paces into the cramped space, as if gathering courage. “Nice place,” he said, voice echoing faintly in the clutter. “Small, but it’s mine.” She folded her arms, watching him closely. “So? Spill it. Why are you really here?” Lucien rounded on her, dark eyes unwavering. “Because I need to know if there’s still something between us. If whatever we had was just a mistake or if maybe—” “If maybe what?” She cut him off again, anger rising. “Maybe there’s a chance to fix what was broken.” His voice cracked slightly, honest in a way that struck her hard. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. The words stuck in her throat, tangled with every hurt and distraction from the past. Her shoulders sagged, and she looked away, eyes settling on the mess of research and Ptolemy curling into a ball. “You walked away,” she finally said, voice trembling. “You said it was better for both of us. That I deserved more than whatever this was. And now you show up like nothing’s happened?” His jaw tightened. “You think I didn’t want to come back? That I didn’t want to fix it?” “Then why didn’t you? Huh? Why leave?” He hesitated, then stepped closer, voice low and urgent. “Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know if I could handle the chance of losing what little we had left. That scar on your wrist—” “I told you about that when we met,” she interrupted, voice edged. “It was from a childhood accident. Doesn’t mean I want to relive every regret.” Lucien’s gaze softened, almost painfully so. “I never stopped thinking about you. Not for a moment. And I think… maybe, you didn’t either.” Rory’s eyes stung, but she blinked back tears. “I didn’t. Not after what you did. Not after you disappeared.” His hand twitched toward her, reaching out—a gesture almost afraid to ask for permission. “Can we just talk? No promises. No expectations. Just… talk?” Her breath caught, mind whirling. Part of her wanted to slam the door again, turn away, erase the ache that tugged at her chest. But instead, she stepped back, just slightly. “Fine,” she whispered. “We can talk.” Lucien nodded slowly, a faint smile touching his lips. “Good.” And in that thin moment, beneath the flickering light of her flat, the silence stretched between them, thick with all the words they’d never said.