Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRBN0RXPK45ZNXX823JDP2

Aurora stood in the cramped kitchen of Eva's flat, the scent of curry wafting through the open window. She stirred a pot of lentils, her mind drifting to the stack of books piled high on the table. The tabby cat, Ptolemy, lounged lazily on the windowsill, soaking up the afternoon sun. A sudden knock shattered the quiet. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, glancing at the door. “Who the hell?” she muttered, her brow furrowing. Another knock, more insistent this time. She hesitated, her heart racing. The last person she expected to see was Lucien Moreau. They hadn’t parted on good terms, and the memory of their last encounter stung like a fresh wound. “Rory, open up!” His voice, smooth and commanding, cut through her thoughts. She froze, the spoon clattering against the pot. “Rory!” With a deep breath, she crossed the small living room, her pulse quickening. She reached for the deadbolt, her fingers trembling. The door swung open, revealing Lucien, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. His platinum blond hair gleamed under the dim light, and his heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—locked onto hers. “Lucien,” she breathed, the name tasting foreign on her tongue. “May I come in?” He leaned against the doorframe, his cane resting beside him, an ivory handle glinting in the light. She hesitated, memories flooding back—his laughter, their late-night conversations, the way he made her feel alive. But the hurt lingered, a bitter reminder of their last argument. “Why are you here?” “Can’t a friend drop by?” He raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Friend?” The word felt heavy, laden with unspoken history. “Please.” He gestured with a flick of his wrist, his voice softening. “I need to talk.” Against her better judgment, she stepped aside, allowing him entry. The flat felt smaller with him inside, the air thick with tension. He surveyed the clutter, his gaze lingering on the books and scrolls scattered across every surface. “Still buried in research, I see.” “Some things never change.” She crossed her arms, trying to maintain her composure. He turned, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.” “Then what is it?” Lucien took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “I need your help.” “Help?” She scoffed, the word bitter on her tongue. “You didn’t seem to need my help before.” “Things have changed.” “Right.” She rolled her eyes, the memories of their last fight surfacing. “You’ve always been good at that—changing the narrative.” “Rory, please.” His voice dropped, sincerity threading through his words. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent.” She studied him, searching for any sign of the man she once knew. The sharp lines of his face, the way his eyes flickered with emotion—it all felt familiar yet distant. “What’s going on?” He hesitated, glancing at the floor before meeting her gaze again. “There’s a situation in the supernatural underworld. I need someone I can trust.” “Trust?” The word hung between them, heavy with implications. “You lost that when you walked away.” “I know.” He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, frustration evident in his posture. “But I’m asking for a second chance. Just this once.” “Why should I?” “Because I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could help.” She felt the weight of his words, the sincerity behind them. “What do you need?” He stepped back, creating space, as if he understood the tension that crackled between them. “There’s a demon in London, one that’s been causing chaos. I need someone to gather information, someone who knows the streets.” “And you think I’m that person?” “You’re the best.” The compliment caught her off guard. She opened her mouth to protest but found no words. “Rory, I know we have history. I know I hurt you.” His voice softened, the edges of his confidence fraying. “But I wouldn’t come to you if I had other options.” She studied him, the way his eyes searched hers, pleading for understanding. “Why now?” “Because I can’t do this alone.” The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words. She glanced at Ptolemy, who had jumped down and now rubbed against her leg, sensing the tension. “Fine,” she finally said, her voice steady. “I’ll help. But this doesn’t mean we’re okay.” “Understood.” He nodded, relief washing over his features. “Let’s get to work then.” As she moved to gather her notes, Lucien stepped closer, his presence a constant reminder of their past. “Rory,” he said, his tone serious. “I know I messed up. I never wanted to hurt you.” She paused, the weight of his words settling in. “You did, Lucien. You walked away when I needed you.” “I thought it was for the best.” “Your best, not mine.” He opened his mouth, then closed it, frustration flickering across his face. “Let’s focus on the task at hand,” she suggested, trying to steer the conversation away from the past. “Right.” He straightened, his demeanor shifting back to business. “We need to find out who this demon is working with. I have a few contacts, but I need your insight.” “Okay.” She grabbed a notebook, flipping through the pages filled with her research. “What do you know so far?” “Not much. Just rumors.” “Rumors can be useful.” “True.” He leaned against the table, his cane resting beside him. “I’ll share what I have, and we can build from there.” As they delved into the details, the air between them shifted, the tension morphing into something more collaborative. But beneath the surface, the unspoken words lingered, waiting for the right moment to resurface.