Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR9WJH3CTHAAQ9JQVSX8M7

The front door of Eva’s flat groaned under the weight of the deadbolt, the old hinges protesting like a tired old man. Aurora Carter stepped inside, her boots crunching on the dusty floorboards, the scent of old paper and something faintly metallic clinging to her coat. She hadn’t come for a fight. Not this time. Eva was already on her feet, her sharp green eyes darting between the doorframe and the chaos of bookshelves that stretched like spines across the walls. "Aurora," she said, voice tight, "you’re not supposed to be here." Aurora didn’t answer. She moved past her, the scar on her wrist—small, jagged—catching the dim light of the streetlamps outside. The flat smelled like the last time she’d been here, like coffee and something sharp, like she’d been crying. She didn’t remember that. Eva’s fingers brushed the edge of a scroll, her thumb skimming the ink before she set it down. "Sit," she ordered, voice low. "Now." Aurora hesitated, then dropped onto the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging under her. The flat was a mess—papers scattered, a half-empty mug of tea forgotten on the table. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, blinked up at her from his usual perch on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily. Eva didn’t sit. She stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, the way she always did when she was about to lose patience. "You came back," she said, not a question. Aurora exhaled, slow and steady. "I needed to see you." Eva’s jaw tightened. "And what did you find?" Aurora’s fingers tightened around the hem of her coat. "I found out what Evan did to you." A sharp intake of breath. "You—what?" Aurora didn’t look away. "He took you. Took you away. And I didn’t stop him." Eva’s voice dropped, rough. "You didn’t know." Aurora shook her head. "I should have. I should have seen the signs." The silence between them was thick, suffocating. Eva’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You left me," she said finally, voice breaking. "You left me here, alone." Aurora’s throat burned. "I didn’t know what else to do." Eva’s eyes burned, too. "And now?" Aurora stood abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor. "Now, I’m here. And I’m not leaving again." Eva’s breath hitched. The air between them crackled, charged with something raw and electric. Aurora reached for the doorknob, but Eva’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist. "Don’t," she whispered. Aurora’s pulse hammered in her throat. "What’s wrong?" Eva’s grip loosened just enough for Aurora to pull free, but her voice was steady, deadly. "You’ve been gone too long." Aurora’s stomach twisted. "What does that mean?" Eva’s gaze flicked to the cane leaning against the wall, the ivory handle polished to a shine. "It means I didn’t think you’d come back." Aurora’s breath caught. "You didn’t think I’d come back?" Eva’s eyes darkened. "I didn’t think you’d *care*." Aurora’s fingers dug into the fabric of her coat. "I care." Eva’s voice was a razor’s edge. "Then why didn’t you stop him?" Aurora’s jaw clenched. "Because I didn’t know what else to do." A beat of silence. Then Eva’s fingers traced the edge of a scroll, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You should have told me." Aurora’s chest ached. "I tried." Eva’s eyes flashed. "You *tried*?" Aurora’s voice was barely a whisper. "I tried to reach you. I tried to warn you. But he had you locked away—" Eva’s hands flew to her throat, fingers digging into her skin. "And you let him." Aurora’s breath came fast. "No—" Eva’s voice cut through her. "You left me." Aurora’s eyes burned. "I didn’t know what else to do." Eva’s grip loosened, but her voice was still sharp. "You should have *known*." Aurora’s hands clenched into fists. "I didn’t know what to do." Eva’s eyes narrowed. "Then you should have asked." Aurora’s voice was raw. "I didn’t know how." Eva’s breath hitched. The air between them was charged, thick with something unspoken. Aurora’s fingers brushed the scar on her wrist, the small, jagged mark a reminder of the past. Eva’s gaze flicked to it, then back to her face. Eva’s voice was low, dangerous. "You should have asked me." Aurora’s chest tightened. "I tried." Eva’s eyes burned. "And you left me." Aurora’s breath came fast. "I didn’t know what else to do." Eva’s voice was a whisper. "You should have *known*." Aurora’s fingers tightened around the doorknob. "I tried." Eva’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. "You should have *told* me." Aurora’s voice was a rasp. "I tried." The door swung open, the wind rushing in, carrying the scent of rain and something sharp, like the edge of a blade. Eva’s eyes locked onto Aurora’s, and for a moment, there was nothing but the weight of what they’d left unsaid. Aurora stepped outside, the door slamming shut behind her. Eva’s voice followed, sharp and cutting. "You should have *known*." Aurora didn’t look back. She didn’t have to. The past was a weight she’d carried for too long. Now, she had to carry it forward.