Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYSZC4NC2WNBDEVNF0FMSY

The door opened with a creak that echoed through the narrow hallway, and Rory's breath caught in her throat. Lucien stood there, immaculate as ever in his tailored charcoal suit, platinum hair gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light. His mismatched eyes—one amber, one black—fixed on her face with an intensity that made her stomach clench. "Hello, Aurora." The sound of her full name on his lips sent a familiar shiver down her spine. She gripped the door frame tighter, knuckles white against the chipped paint. "What are you doing here?" "May I come in?" He gestured with his ivory-handled cane toward the chaos behind her. "Unless you prefer conducting business in the hallway where Mrs. Patel downstairs can hear every word." Business. Of course. Rory stepped aside, the movement sharp and reluctant. Lucien moved past her into Eva's cramped flat, his presence immediately making the book-cluttered space feel even smaller. She caught a whiff of his cologne—something expensive and foreign that reminded her of midnight conversations and choices she'd rather forget. "Eva's not here." She closed the door but didn't engage the deadbolts. "She's at the British Library until closing." "I know." Lucien set his cane against the wall and surveyed the organised chaos of scrolls and research notes covering every surface. Ptolemy emerged from beneath a stack of books, tail twitching as he approached the newcomer with feline curiosity. "I came to see you." The words hit her like ice water. Rory crossed her arms, a defensive barrier against the memories threatening to surface. "We agreed—" "We agreed on many things." He picked up a leather-bound journal from the coffee table, fingers tracing its worn cover. "Most of which we've both found difficult to honour." "Don't." Her voice came out sharper than intended. "Don't do that thing where you speak in riddles and expect me to decode whatever game you're playing." Lucien's amber eye caught hers while the black one remained unreadable. "No games, ma chérie. Not tonight." The endearment hit like a physical blow. How many times had he whispered it against her skin in the dark corners of London's supernatural underworld? How many times had she pretended it meant nothing while her pulse quickened at the sound? "Then why are you here?" He set the journal down carefully, movements precise as always. "There's been a development. Something that requires your particular skills." "My skills." Rory laughed, the sound bitter in the small space. "Right. Because that's all this is about, isn't it? What I can do for the great Lucien Moreau." "That's not—" He stopped, jaw tightening. "You know that's not fair." "Fair?" The word exploded from her lips. "You want to talk about fair? You disappeared for three months, Luc. Three months without a word, without explanation. I thought you were dead." "You thought, or you hoped?" The question hung between them like a blade. Rory felt heat rise in her cheeks, anger and something else she refused to name warring in her chest. "Get out." "Aurora—" "I said get out." She moved toward the door, hand reaching for the handle. "Whatever job you're peddling, find someone else. I'm done being your convenient little problem-solver." Lucien's hand caught her wrist, fingers wrapping around the small crescent scar there. The touch was gentle, achingly familiar, and she hated how her body betrayed her by not pulling away. "I had no choice." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "The Contract of Avaros—" "Don't." She yanked her wrist free, the absence of his touch immediate and unwelcome. "Don't use demon politics as an excuse for being a coward." His heterochromatic eyes flashed dangerously. "Careful, ma chérie. You know nothing about what I've sacrificed." "Sacrificed?" Rory spun to face him fully, months of hurt and confusion finally finding their voice. "You want to talk about sacrifice? I gave up everything for you. My safety, my peace of mind, my bloody sanity. I walked into Hell itself because you asked me to." "And you walked out again." "Barely." The memory of sulfur and screaming echoed in her mind. "And when I did, you were gone. No goodbye, no explanation. Just your pretty words about keeping me safe while you vanished like smoke." Lucien stepped closer, close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his amber eye. "Keeping you safe was never just words." "Then why does it feel like abandonment?" The question stripped bare, raw and honest in the space between them. Lucien's composure cracked, something vulnerable flickering across his features before he shuttered it away. "Because perhaps it was." The admission knocked the air from her lungs. She'd expected denial, deflection—the elegant verbal dancing he excelled at. Not this stark honesty that cut deeper than any lie. "Then why are you here?" Her voice came out smaller than she intended. "Why now?" Lucien reached into his jacket and withdrew a photograph—black and white, grainy with age. He held it out to her, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. The image showed a symbol carved into stone, intricate and definitely occult. "Because three days ago, this appeared on the walls of seven churches across London. All consecrated ground. All places that should be protected from demonic interference." Rory studied the photograph, her analytical mind already working despite the emotional turmoil. The symbol was unlike anything in Eva's extensive research collection—ancient but wrong somehow, as if the very lines hurt to look at directly. "What is it?" "A summoning mark. But not for anything from Avaros or the other known realms." Lucien moved to stand beside her, their shoulders almost touching as he pointed to specific elements of the carving. "The geometric patterns, the way the lines intersect—this is calling something that shouldn't exist." Despite herself, Rory found her irritation sharpening into focus. Puzzles had always been her weakness, and this one hummed with dangerous potential. "Who's doing the summoning?" "That's what I need to find out." His voice carried the weight of genuine concern. "And I need someone I can trust absolutely." The words hung in the air between them, loaded with history and implication. Rory looked up to find him watching her intently, both eyes serious now. "Trust." She tested the word like wine gone sour. "Funny how you only remember that when you need something." "Aurora." Her name was soft on his lips, stripped of its usual formal pronunciation. "What happened between us—" "Was a mistake." She handed back the photograph, fingers careful not to touch his. "We both know that." But even as she said it, her body betrayed her with memories—his hands in her hair, his voice whispering promises in French she pretended not to understand, the way he'd looked at her like she was something precious and dangerous all at once. Lucien pocketed the photograph, movements deliberate. "Perhaps. But mistakes have a way of becoming necessary, don't they?" Before she could respond, Ptolemy wound between their legs with a purr, breaking the tension that had been building like a storm. Rory seized the distraction, bending to scratch behind the tabby's ears. "You should go." She didn't look up. "Eva will be back soon." "Will you consider it?" His voice carried that persuasive tone she remembered too well. "The case, I mean." Rory straightened slowly, meeting his mismatched gaze with all the steel she could muster. "I'll consider it. But not for you." Something that might have been hurt flickered across his features. "For whom, then?" "For the seven churches full of people who don't deserve to die because some amateur occultist is playing with forces they don't understand." Lucien nodded slowly, retrieving his cane from where he'd propped it against the wall. "Of course. Always the hero, aren't you, ma chérie?" The endearment stung worse this time, carrying as it did the weight of everything unsaid between them. "Don't call me that." She followed him to the door, hand hovering over the deadbolts. "Not anymore." He paused in the doorway, silhouette cutting a sharp line against the fluorescent-lit hallway. "For what it's worth," he said without turning around, "leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done." "Then why did you do it?" But the hallway was empty, and Rory was left staring at nothing but shadows and the lingering scent of expensive cologne.