Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRM53G71JR6CWDZMZ5JNKB

Aurora paused mid-reach for the last slice of pizza, her fingers hovering over the greasy cardboard. The distant hum of traffic slipped through the open window, but it all faded when she heard a sudden knock. Each rap echoed like a hammer against her resolve. She dropped her hand. “Who's that?” Ptolemy, the tabby, stretched lazily on the cluttered table, his tail flicking dismissively. Rory swiped a stray piece of hair behind her ear, shrugging off the knot of anxiety twisting in her stomach. “Could be the delivery guy.” But she knew better. The delivery cutoff was long past. When another knock sounded—louder and more insistent—she took a sharp breath. “Hold on, Pto.” She slipped off her stool and trudged towards the door, a sense of dread swirling in her chest. She peeked through the peephole, and her heart skipped, pounding against her ribcage. The figure standing there wore a tailored charcoal suit, and just behind it, the glint of an ivory-handled cane caught the soft glow of the overhead light. Lucien. What was he doing here? She hesitated. It had been years since their lives twisted apart, years filled with silent calls and unreturned messages. Her pulse thrummed against her skin. “Rory? I know you’re in there,” Lucien's voice, smooth and rich, laced through the door. He always had that way of filling a space, even one as cramped as her flat. Rory composed herself, shifted her weight onto one hip, and unlatched the three deadbolts. The door swung open, revealing his tall frame silhouetted by the dim hallway light. “Luc.” She straightened, refusing to show the whirlwind inside her. His lip twitched, a half-smile flirting with his features, but the amber of his heterochromatic eyes darkened at her guarded stance. “Have you missed me?” “Hardly.” The word slipped out sharper than she intended, like a slap. His gaze flicked to the mess around her—books and scrolls piled precariously on every surface, dishes stacked in the sink. “Looks like life treated you well.” Rory crossed her arms. “You don’t get to judge my flat.” Lucien’s amusement faded. “I came here for a reason.” “Do explain.” She stepped back, opening the door wider, a silent invitation. Suddenly, the cramped space felt smaller, the air heavier. He stepped inside, bringing with him a presence that stirred distant memories—coffee, late nights, and whispered secrets tangled in the glow of her old desk lamp. He leaned against the wall, cane fixed in front of him like a deliberate barrier between them. “I can see you're busy. I won’t take up too much of your time.” “That’s considerate of you,” she retorted, the sarcasm draping across the words like an old, familiar cloak. His brow furrowed. “Rory. I’m here to help.” “Help? Since when do you want to help? What’s the catch?” Her bitterness thickened the air, layering their words with tension. He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them, the cane swaying slightly as he moved. “I need your skills. It’s urgent.” She raised a brow, challenging him. “You think I’d drop everything for you after... after everything?” “Things were complicated.” “‘Complicated’ doesn’t quite cut it.” He sighed, frustration bleeding through his carefully composed facade. “We both made mistakes.” “Nice of you to finally acknowledge that.” She fought against the bittersweet memories flickering in the back of her mind—nights full of laughter, sudden arguments, and the way he’d looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching. She broke the eye contact, biting her lip as she shifted her weight again. “You didn’t just walk away, Luc. You disappeared.” “In my defense, I had my reasons.” “Which were?” “None of your business.” His tone sharpened like the blade hidden in his cane. “Right. Let’s just avoid talking about it. Or anything that really matters. Classic Luc.” He took a step closer, the remnants of their shared history hanging dangerously in the air. “I didn’t have a choice. You think I wanted to turn my back?” “You didn’t even try!” The words hung heavy between them, an echo of years spent apart. Her heart thudded in the silence, betraying the strength she tried to project. She turned away, fists clenching at her sides. “Just… get to the point.” Lucien shifted closer, lowering his voice. “I’m being watched. It’s bad for me, and by extension, it’s bad for you.” “Great. Just wonderful.” She rolled her eyes but halted as an unexpected chill swept through her. “What does that mean?” “They know where you are,” he exhaled, the weight of those words sinking in the space between them. Rory stepped back, her pulse racing. “What do you mean, ‘they?’ Are you in trouble?” “This involves more than just me.” Her chest tightened. “What’s going on?” “Let’s discuss this somewhere else.” “Now you want to run?” “Rory, listen—” “Why should I listen to you?” He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, an unmistakable sign of frustration. “Because, despite everything, I care. You need to trust me.” Trust hung between them like a fragile thread, fraying at the edges. Rory’s mind raced with hesitance, each thought clashing against the memories of heartbreak and stolen glances. The pulse of attraction still lingered, but so did the scars of their past. “Trust? You lost that privilege a long time ago.” “I get it. But this is real. People are watching. They’re dangerous.” “Why now? Why come back at all?” “Because I don’t want to see you hurt,” he said, softer now, almost vulnerable. A glance he threw her way, laden with lingering affection, caught her off guard. “Can’t you just go back to being, I don’t know, the ‘Frenchman’ who appears when it’s convenient?” “That’s not who I am with you.” Rory halted, grappling with the shards of what they once shared and what they had become. Seconds stretched as he searched for the right words, agony reflecting in his eyes. “I need you to help me figure out who’s after me. We can’t do this alone,” he finally said. With no other choice weighing heavier than the memories and emotions tangled inside, she met his gaze. “Alright,” she relented, her voice seeming to echo against the walls. At least in deciding, she could feel her heart beat a little steadier. Lucien stepped closer again, his words near a whisper. “Thank you, Rory. You won’t regret it.” She almost believed him.