Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXEMBW09M7E9F4KDTC49WJ

The top deadbolt slid back with a thud. Another click, then the final rasp of the lock as the door opened an inch. A sliver of bright blue appeared in the gap, then the rest of Aurora’s face. Wet black hair, plastered to her forehead, dripped onto the collar of a man’s oversized white shirt. The fabric clung to her frame, soaked through. Lucien’s gaze remained fixed on her. The rain plastered his platinum-blond hair to his skull. A dark, tailored suit jacket, sodden and heavy, hung from his wide shoulders. Water streamed from the expensive fabric, gathering in an inky puddle at his feet. A silver-tipped cane, clutched in a white-knuckled grip, supported his weight. “You’re dripping,” Aurora said, her voice flat, devoid of warmth. Her eyes, the colour of a stormy sea, refused to meet his. She stepped back, the door swinging open to reveal the cramped hallway behind her. “I prefer a dramatic entrance,” Lucien replied, his lips curving into a humourless smile. He swept his hand out, gesturing to his drenched form. Aurora rolled her eyes, a small huff escaping her lips. He took a step over the threshold, his polished leather shoes squeaking on the linoleum. The scent of rain, damp wool, and something distinctly masculine filled the air. She remained rooted to the spot, a statuesque figure, her arms crossed tight across her chest. “I’m not in the mood, Lucien,” she said, her voice low and gravelly. “Whatever it is, it can wait.” “Can it?” he asked, his one amber eye glittering with an unreadable emotion. “Or is that simply what you wish?” He moved further into the living room, his gaze sweeping over the stacks of books, scrolls, and haphazardly arranged notes. A tabby cat, disturbed from its perch on a precarious tower of tomes, blinked at him with sleepy indifference before curling back into a furry ball. Aurora shut the door with a soft click, the sound final. The rain outside continued its relentless drumming against the windowpanes. The single light in the hallway cast long, dancing shadows across the room, making the familiar space feel alien. “You’re full of it, you know,” she said, her voice rising in volume. “Always showing up when it suits you. Never when it actually matters.” Lucien turned, his expression unreadable. “And when did it not matter, Aurora?” “Don’t play dumb,” she snapped. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Her chest heaved with each breath, a tempest brewing beneath the surface. Her tight grip released from her arms, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Enlighten me,” he said, his voice a low thrum. He took another step towards her, encroaching into her personal space. The air crackled between them, thick with unaddressed history. “You left,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, the fight draining from her. “When I needed you most, you disappeared.” His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He averted his gaze, his eyes darting to the rain-streaked window. “I had… matters to attend to.” “Always matters,” she scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Always something more important than me.” He turned back to her, his gaze intense. “That’s not fair, Rory.” The informal address, a name he rarely used, struck a chord. Her shoulders slumped. The anger that had momentarily flared subsided, replaced by a hollow ache. “Isn’t it?” she asked, her voice laced with pain. “You were supposed to stay. You promised.” “Circumstances change.” “They always do with you,” she said, shaking her head. “One minute you’re here, the next you’re gone. A phantom. That’s what you are.” He winced, the word striking a nerve. He reached out a hand, his fingers hovering inches from her arm. She flinched, pulling back as if burned. “Don’t,” she said, her voice sharp. His hand dropped to his side. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. The only sound was the distant rumble of the underground and the relentless patter of rain. “I came here because I need your help,” he finally said, his voice quiet, devoid of its usual suave charm. “It’s important.” “It always is,” she responded, her tone still guarded. “But why me? You have a network. Contacts. People who actually enjoy your presence.” He let out a dry, mirthless chuckle. “My contacts are… compromised. And as for enjoying my presence,” he quirked a brow, a hint of his old self returning. “I seem to recall a time when you did.” Her cheeks flushed, a faint rosiness spreading across her pale skin. She turned away, walking over to the overflowing bookshelf, her fingers tracing the worn spines of the books. “That was a long time ago,” she muttered, her voice muffled. “Was it?” he asked, moving closer, his voice a silken whisper. He stopped behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, even through their clothes. The scent of rain, his cologne, and something else – something uniquely him – filled her senses. It was a smell she had both yearned for and loathed. “Things change, Lucien,” she said, her back still to him. “People change.” “Do they?” he asked, his voice now directly next to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Or do they simply hide who they truly are?” She spun around, her eyes blazing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He leaned in closer, his heterochromatic eyes searching hers, a depth of emotion swirling within them that she couldn’t quite decipher. “It means, Rory, that I know you. Better than anyone.” “You don’t know anything about me anymore,” she retorted, though her voice wavered slightly. His lips twitched upwards, a genuine smile this time, small but significant. “Humour me. What do you remember of us?” Her gaze locked with his, falling into the depths of that amber and that black eye. A jolt, electric and raw, shot through her. The past rushed back, a torrent of stolen glances, hushed conversations, and desperate touches. The way his hand felt in hers, the warmth of his body against hers, the lingering taste of him on her lips. “I remember… a lot of things,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. He nodded, his gaze unwavering. “And do you regret them?” She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. The question hung in the air, a fragile thing, loaded with unspoken sentiment. The rain outside seemed to intensify, matching the storm brewing within her. She wanted to deny it, to push him away, to scream at him for daring to ask. But the words wouldn’t come. The truth, a bitter pill, lodged itself in her throat. “I… I don’t know,” she stammered, finally breaking their intense stare. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing against her cheek, sending a searing heat through her. She leaned into his touch, an involuntary reaction, a deep-seated longing she had tried to bury. His thumb caressed her skin, a feather-light touch that promised so much. “Rory,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes still fixed on hers. “Look at me.” She finally met his gaze again, her heart hammering against her ribs. The anger, the hurt, the resentment, it all faded, replaced by a devastating vulnerability. “What do you want, Lucien?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I want you to listen,” he said, his voice low, a husky plea. “Please. This is important.” She stepped back, breaking the contact, the warmth of his hand still lingering on her skin. She needed distance, space to breathe, to think. To rebuild the walls he so effortlessly seemed to crumble. “Fine,” she said, her voice regaining some of its earlier bite. “Talk. But don’t think for a second that this changes anything between us.” He simply nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, a silent understanding passing between them. He pulled out the chair from the small dining table, the scrape of metal on linoleum a jarring sound in the quiet room. He sat, his wet suit jacket creating a dark stain on the wooden seat. He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit,” he said. “It’s a long story.” She hesitated for a moment, then, with a sigh of resignation, pulled out the chair and sat. The cat, Ptolemy, jumped onto the table, eyeing Lucien with a suspicious gaze before settling onto a pile of research notes. “Start from the beginning,” she said, her voice firm. “And don’t leave anything out this time.” He nodded, then began, his voice a low rumble.