Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTY38Z13K3ZYG55ZGPVT5FX

The third deadbolt clicked open with a heavy, metallic thud that echoed through the narrow hallway. Aurora gripped the edge of the doorframe, her knuckles white against the peeling paint. She had expected a delivery from Yu-Fei, maybe a wrong-number knock from the curry house downstairs, or perhaps Ptolemy scratching to get back in after squeezing through the window. She did not expect the man standing on the grimy landing, illuminated by the flickering bulb overhead. Lucien Moreau filled the doorway. Rain dripped from the hem of his charcoal suit, pooling on the linoleum floor. His platinum hair, usually slicked back to perfection, clung to his forehead in damp strands. The ivory handle of his cane gleamed under the weak light, a stark contrast to the grime of Brick Lane. "You look terrible," Aurora said, her voice flat. She stepped back, leaving the door wide open. "Come in before you rot the floorboards." Lucien crossed the threshold without invitation. He moved with that fluid, unnatural grace that always made her skin prickle, a reminder of the blood that ran through his veins. He shook his umbrella once, a sharp snap, before leaning it against the wall beside a stack of ancient scrolls. "And you look exactly as I remembered," he replied, his accent thickening the vowels. "Though the circles under your eyes are new." Aurora slammed the door shut and engaged all three locks in rapid succession. The sound echoed like gunshots in the cramped space. She turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. The smell of rain and expensive cologne washed over her, pushing aside the lingering scent of turmeric and old paper that permeated the flat. "What are you doing here, Lucien?" He ignored the question, his mismatched eyes—one amber, one void-black—scanning the room. They landed on Ptolemy, the tabby cat, who sat atop a pile of research notes on the sofa, tail twitching. Lucien extended a hand. The cat sniffed his fingers, then rubbed its cheek against his knuckles. "Your security is lacking," Lucien noted, stroking the cat. "Three deadbolts on the front, yet your window latch is broken. I could have entered through there without disturbing you." "I didn't invite you to inspect my home security." Aurora walked past him to the small kitchenette, grabbing a chipped mug from the drying rack. Her hands trembled slightly, so she gripped the ceramic tighter. "I asked why you are here. We said everything we needed to say six months ago. Actually, we said far too much." Lucien released the cat and turned to face her. He rested his weight on his cane, the ivory head pressing into the worn carpet. "Circumstances have changed, Rory." "Don't call me that." She filled the mug with water from the tap, the pipes groaning in protest. "Only Eva calls me that. And you lost the right when you walked out of the Golden Empress without looking back." "I looked back." Lucien's voice dropped, losing its polished edge. "I looked back three times before I reached the corner. You were scrubbing a table, refusing to meet my gaze." Aurora spun around, water sloshing over the rim of the mug and onto her hand. She didn't wipe it away. "Because you left a note, Lucien. A note. 'Gone to Marseille. Indefinitely.' That was it. No explanation. No goodbye. Just a piece of napkin tucked under a salt shaker." "My father summoned me." Lucien took a step toward her, the floorboard creaking under his polished shoe. "Avaros is not a place one declines an invitation from, especially when the invitation comes with a threat against one's human associates." "So you threatened me by leaving?" Aurora laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. "That's rich. You think disappearing protected me? Do you have any idea what I went through thinking you were dead? Or worse, that you just decided I wasn't worth the trouble?" "I thought distance was the only shield I could offer." Lucien stopped inches from her. He smelled of ozone and old books, a scent that triggered a memory of a night in a cemetery, rain pouring down, his hand warm against her cheek. She shook the memory away. "Clearly, I miscalculated." "You miscalculated everything." Aurora set the mug down on the counter with a clatter. She pointed a finger at his chest, right over the pocket of his tailored jacket. "You don't get to show up here, in my safe space, after half a year of silence, and act like nothing happened. You don't get to analyze my window latches and pet my cat like you belong here." Ptolemy jumped from the sofa and wound himself around Lucien's ankles, purring loudly. Lucien looked down at the cat, then back up at Aurora. His expression remained impassive, but the black pupil of his left eye dilated, swallowing the amber iris. "I do not act like I belong," he said softly. "I am here because the barriers between realms are thinning. Something is hunting in London, Rory. Something that knows about your connection to me." Aurora felt a chill run down her spine, unrelated to the draft from the poorly sealed window. "Is that why you're here? To warn me?" "To protect you." Lucien reached out, his fingers hovering near the small crescent scar on her left wrist. He didn't touch her, but the heat radiating from his palm was palpable. "And to apologize. Though I know words carry little weight with you." "Words are all we have, Lucien. Actions are what broke us." She pulled her hand away, tucking it behind her back. "You chose your world over ours. Over me." "I chose survival." Lucien's jaw tightened, a muscle feathering along the line. "If I had stayed, they would have burned this building to the ground with you inside. Is that what you wanted? A heroic last stand in a flat above a curry house?" "I wanted honesty!" Aurora's voice cracked. She took a breath, forcing herself to lower her volume. The neighbors below were likely listening. "I wanted you to trust me enough to tell me the truth before you vanished. Instead, you treated me like a child who couldn't handle reality." Lucien sighed, a sound of genuine weariness. He loosened his tie, pulling the knot slack. "You are right. I was a fool. Pride and fear made me reckless." He took another step, closing the remaining distance between them. Now she could see the fine lines around his eyes, the exhaustion he tried to hide beneath his immaculate exterior. "But I am here now. And I am not leaving until I know you are safe." Aurora looked up at him, really looked at him, for the first time since he opened the door. The anger still simmered in her gut, hot and acidic, but beneath it lay the old ache, the hollow space he had left behind. She saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip on the cane whitened his knuckles. He wasn't just posing; he was on edge. "If you stay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "you sleep on the sofa. And you do not touch my research." Lucien's lips quirked upward, a ghost of a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Agreed." "And no demon business inside the flat. If anything tries to come through that window, you deal with it outside." "Reasonable." Aurora turned away from him, busying herself with drying the counter she had already dried. She needed something to do with her hands, something to stop her from reaching out and checking if he was real. "Make yourself useful. There's tea in the cupboard. Brew it properly, or don't bother." She heard the rustle of fabric as Lucien moved to the cupboard. The familiar sound of him navigating her small kitchen sent a jolt of nostalgia through her that nearly doubled her over. "Milk or lemon?" he asked. "Neither." Aurora leaned against the counter, watching him from the corner of her eye. "Black. Two sugars. Just how you hate it." Lucien paused, the sugar bowl in his hand. He looked at her, his heterochromatic gaze intense. "I never hated it. I simply preferred to share yours." The air in the room grew heavy, charged with the unsaid things hanging between them. The rain battered against the windowpane, a relentless rhythm that matched the pounding of Aurora's heart. She looked at the scar on her wrist, then at the man who had caused it to throb with memory. "Just make the tea, Lucien," she said, turning her back to him again. "Before I change my mind and throw you out into the rain." "As you wish." The kettle whistled, a shrill scream that shattered the tension. Lucien poured the water, the steam rising between them like a veil. He placed the mug on the counter beside her hand, his fingers brushing hers for a fleeting second. The contact burned, electric and terrifying. Aurora wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic, grounding herself. She didn't drink. She just held on, staring at the condensation forming on the window, waiting for the next move in a game neither of them knew how to play anymore.