Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRDSM0Q0NHWG10MZW2HZ8C

The door creaked open before the first knock could land, the brass knocker clattering against the wood like a warning. Rory froze mid-step, her delivery bag slung over one shoulder, the weight of it suddenly feeling like a leaden anchor. The air in the hallway shifted—cooler, sharper—like someone had just exhaled a breath of winter. "Christ," she muttered, fingers tightening around the strap. The door swung wider, revealing the dim glow of the hallway lamp spilling into the stairwell. No one stood there. No one should have been there. Then the light flickered. A shadow moved. Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat as the figure stepped into view, backlit by the glow of the streetlamp outside. Tall. Impeccably dressed. A cane tapped against the floor, the ivory handle catching the light like a blade in moonlight. "Lucien," she breathed, voice raw. The name tasted like ash. He didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Just lifted his cane and used it to nudge the door shut behind him, sealing them in the narrow space between the stairwell and the flat’s entrance. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Then he finally looked at her. His amber eye caught the light first, sharp as a cut. The black one was hidden in shadow, unreadable. His lips quirked, just slightly, like he was amused by something. "You’re late," he said, voice smooth as aged whiskey. "And you’re not delivering anything." Rory’s fingers twitched. She should have walked away. Should have turned and kept going, up the stairs, out the door, anywhere but here. But the scent of him—leather and something darker, something that made her skin prickle—was already seeping into her, wrapping around her like a second skin. "Lucien," she repeated, softer now. "What the hell are you doing here?" He finally turned, those eyes locking onto hers. The amber one burned, the black one watched. "I came to see you." Her breath hitched. "Why?" His cane tapped again, a rhythmic, insistent beat. "Because I’ve been looking for you for three years, Rory. And now I’ve found you." The name on his lips sent a jolt through her. *Rory.* Not *Aurora.* Not *Carter.* Just her. The way he’d called her once, long ago, when the world was simpler and the lines between them were clearer. She swallowed hard. "Three years?" she echoed. "You just now decide to show up?" His jaw tightened, just for a second. "Circumstances." She scoffed, stepping back instinctively. "Circumstances. Right." He didn’t rise to it. Just tilted his head, studying her. "You’ve changed." She looked down at herself—her delivery uniform, the smudged makeup, the way her hair was pulled back in a messy knot. "So have you." His lips twitched. "I’ve always been this way." Rory exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. "What do you want, Lucien?" He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his coat, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and held it out. "This." She stared at it. A single address, scrawled in an elegant, precise hand. No note. No explanation. "Where’s that?" "Where I’m staying," he said. "For now." Rory’s fingers hovered over it, then curled around the paper. "You’re staying with me." His gaze flicked to hers, sharp. "I didn’t say that." "No," she agreed, voice low. "But you’re not leaving until you do." He didn’t argue. Just stepped closer, the cane tapping against the floorboards. The space between them shrank, the air between them thickening. Rory could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room like a promise. "You always were stubborn," he murmured. She lifted her chin. "And you always were impossible." His lips curled, just slightly. "Impossible is right." Rory’s pulse roared in her ears. She should have walked away. Should have told him to get lost. But the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing in the room—made her stomach twist. "Fine," she said, voice steadier than she felt. "But you’re sleeping on the couch." He raised an eyebrow. "And you’re sleeping in my bed?" Rory’s breath caught. "That’s not what I said." His smile was slow, dangerous. "No. It’s not." She should have walked away. But she didn’t. Instead, she stepped closer, the space between them disappearing. "What do you want, Lucien?" He reached up, his fingers brushing her cheek. The touch was light, almost hesitant. "I want to finish what we started." Rory’s breath hitched. She should have pulled away. Should have told him to stop. But she didn’t. She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as his lips brushed hers. Soft. Demanding. *Lucien.* And just like that, the world narrowed to this moment, to this man, to the way his hands cupped her face, his body pressing hers against the door. The past melted away. The future didn’t exist. There was only this. Only him. And the way he kissed her like he’d been waiting for her all along.