Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYW1RS26RJXRTPSHSMNN11

The door swung open, and Aurora froze mid-knock. Lucien stood in the threshold of Eva's flat, one hand on the doorframe, the other gripping that damned ivory-handled cane. His mismatched eyes—amber and black—locked onto hers with an intensity that drove the air from her lungs. He wore a charcoal waistcoat over rolled shirtsleeves, the top button undone. She'd never seen him this dishevelled. "Rory." Just her name. Not a question, not a greeting. Something heavier. "Where's Eva?" The words came out sharper than she intended, but her heart hammered against her ribs and she needed distance, needed space to think without the scent of his cologne—bergamot and something darker—clouding her judgment. "Amsterdam. Research trip." He stepped aside, his movements fluid despite the cane. "I'm minding Ptolemy." As if summoned, the tabby appeared between Lucien's ankles, tail high. Aurora's delivery bag dug into her shoulder. She'd come straight from the Golden Empress after her shift, still smelling of fried rice and the February drizzle that had soaked through her jacket. Three weeks since she'd last seen him. Three weeks since he'd kissed her in the alley behind Silas' bar, then vanished without explanation when she'd pulled away to breathe. "I brought Eva's usual from Yu-Fei's." She lifted the bag. "Mapo tofu and spring rolls." "She won't be back until Tuesday." "Right. Well." Aurora turned toward the stairs. "The food will spoil." She stopped. Closed her eyes. Counted to five because ten seemed excessive. "Are you hungry?" His accent wrapped around the words, French vowels bleeding through the English consonants. "No." "Liar." Her fingers tightened on the bag's strap. "You know what? Fine. I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm knackered. But we're not doing this." She gestured between them as she pushed past him into the cluttered flat. "Whatever this is." "Whatever this is," he repeated, closing the door. All three deadbolts clicked home. "You'll have to be more specific." Books and scrolls covered every surface—the sofa, the coffee table, stacked against the walls. Aurora navigated the familiar chaos toward the kitchenette, hyperaware of Lucien's presence behind her. He moved quietly for someone who carried a cane, though she suspected he leaned on it less from necessity and more from the blade hidden inside. "I'll be specific." She set the bag down harder than needed. "We're not going to talk about what happened." "Nothing happened." She spun around. He stood in the kitchenette entrance, blocking it with his lean frame. The overhead light caught the platinum of his hair, made his eyes gleam. "Exactly. Nothing happened because I stopped it." "You stopped it," he agreed. His gaze dropped to her mouth. "Very sensible." "Don't patronize me." "I'm agreeing with you." "You're being an arsehole." Something flickered across his face—amusement or irritation, she couldn't tell. Ptolemy wound between his legs again, purring loud enough to hear across the small space. Traitor cat. Aurora pulled containers from the bag, focused on the mundane task of opening lids and finding clean plates in Eva's disastrous kitchen. Her hands trembled slightly. She hoped he wouldn't notice. "You've been avoiding the Rose & Thorn." His voice came from directly behind her now. "I've been busy." "Silas mentioned you stopped coming to the Thursday gatherings." She grabbed plates from the cabinet, china clinking. "Since when do you and Silas chat about my schedule?" "Since you disappeared." "I didn't disappear. I've been working. Some of us have jobs that don't involve selling information to the highest bidder." The words landed like stones in still water. She regretted them immediately but wouldn't take them back. Couldn't. Silence stretched between them, broken only by Ptolemy's continued purring and the distant sounds of the curry house below preparing for dinner service. "You think very little of what I do." His tone remained neutral, but she heard the edge underneath. "I think you're brilliant at what you do." She turned to face him, plate in each hand like shields. "I think you're dangerous and connected and you know things about the supernatural world that most people couldn't dream of. I also think you use that cane to intimidate people who already fear you." His mouth curved—not quite a smile. "And you? Do you fear me?" The question hung between them, weighted with memories. His hands in her hair. Her back against brick. The taste of wine on his lips and the way he'd whispered her name like a prayer or a curse. "No." "Perhaps you should." "Is that a threat?" "A warning." He shifted his weight, the cane tapping once against the linoleum. "I'm not—" He stopped, jaw tightening. Started again. "You were right to stop it." Aurora set the plates down. Her throat felt tight. "Why did you kiss me?" "Why did you kiss me back?" "Don't answer my question with a question. You're better than that." He looked away, toward the window where rain had begun streaking the glass. The streetlights of Brick Lane cast orange shadows across his sharp features. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its careful control. "Because I've wanted to since the moment you walked into the Rose & Thorn covered in mud and demon ichor, demanding to know if anyone had seen Eva. Because you looked at me like I was human instead of something to be bartered with or feared. Because you're the first person in a decade who's called me Luc without asking permission first." The confession stripped something raw between them. Aurora's breath caught. "Lucien—" "But you were also right." He met her eyes again, and she saw something she'd never seen in him before—uncertainty. "I can't give you what you need. My father is a demon lord. My business puts me at odds with creatures who would use you to get to me. And I have no practice at being good." "Good at what?" "At this. At caring for someone enough that their safety matters more than the information they can provide." Aurora crossed the small distance between them. She didn't touch him, not yet, but stood close enough to see the pulse at his throat, to count the silver threads in his platinum hair. "Did Eva put you up to watching her flat, or did you volunteer?" His lips twitched. "I volunteered." "Why?" "Because I knew you'd come by. Because I'm a selfish bastard who wanted to see you even though walking away would be kinder." "Maybe I don't want kind." Her hand moved to his chest, fingers spreading over the silk of his waistcoat. His heart beat rabbit-fast beneath her palm. "Maybe I want honest." "Honest?" The word came out rough. His free hand rose to cup her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "Honestly, you terrify me." "Good." She tilted her face up, her lips a breath from his. "Now we're even."