Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYX7XTG3THETTE721JV9CE

The lock clicked, a sharp metallic snap in the quiet hallway. Aurora pulled the door open and the air left her lungs. Lucien stood on the threshold, rain dripping from the brim of his umbrella onto the worn doormat. He wore a charcoal suit that cost more than her monthly rent, tailored to fit his shoulders with precision. Water darkened the fabric at the seams. He leaned on the ivory-handled cane, knuckles white where they gripped the curve. You should not be here. Lucien stepped forward without invitation. The scent of ozone and expensive tobacco clung to him, overpowering the smell of stale beer drifting up from Silas' bar below. He closed the umbrella and leaned it against the wall, the movement fluid despite the rain-slicked pavement outside. The lock held three deadbolts. Eva installed them. Eva is not here. Aurora moved back into the room, forcing herself to breathe. The flat was small, cramped with boxes she hadn't unpacked since fleeing Cardiff. She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist beneath the sleeve of her jumper. Why did you come, Lucien? He turned to face her. The overhead light caught the mismatched pupils, one amber, one black, shifting in the dimness. He looked tired. The usual immaculate slick of platinum blond hair had a strand out of place, falling across his forehead. You stopped answering the phone. I changed the number. You changed the number. He repeated the words, testing the weight of them. He walked further into the room, the tip of his cane tapping against the floorboards. He stopped near the small kitchenette, running a gloved finger along the edge of the counter. Dust came away on the leather. You look well. Don't. Don't what? Don't pretend you care how I look. Lucien turned back. The distance between them shrunk to mere feet. The heat radiating from him felt unnatural, a side effect of the demon blood running through his veins. It warmed the cold draft seeping through the window frame. I never pretended. You left. You walked out of the warehouse in Southwark and didn't look back. I had to find my own way out of the wards. The wards were collapsing. Staying meant death. You left me there. I saved you. You saved yourself. Aurora walked to the window. The street below buzzed with late-night traffic. Headlights swept across the ceiling, casting moving shadows over the unpacked boxes. She watched the reflection of Lucien in the glass. He hadn't moved. He stood like a statue carved from ice and shadow. I heard about Evan. Her spine stiffened. She kept her eyes on the street. That name does not belong in this room. He hurt you. He is in the past. He is in prison. Because of information I provided. Aurora spun around. Her bright blue eyes locked onto his heterochromatic gaze. The anger flared hot and bright, burning away the shock of his arrival. You watched him beat me for months. You watched and you traded information like currency. You did not lift a finger until it suited your broker schedule. Lucien's jaw tightened. The muscle feathered beneath the pale skin. He took a step toward her, the cane clicking once on the wood. I was building a case. Rushing it would have freed him on a technicality. You know how the courts work. Your father taught you. Do not bring my father into this. Brendan Carter would not want his daughter living above a pub, delivering noodles to pay the rent. Brendan Carter wanted me to be a lawyer. I am not a lawyer. I am alive. That is enough. She moved toward the door, hand reaching for the handle. Lucien shifted, blocking the path without appearing to move. He simply existed in the space, an obstacle made of will and magic. Move. No. Move, Lucien. Not until you listen. There is nothing to listen to. You made your choice when you chose the underworld over me. You chose the shadows. I chose to keep you breathing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. The hum of the refrigerator filled the gap. Aurora dropped her hand from the door. She looked at the cane, at the concealed blade she knew waited inside the ivory handle. A weapon disguised as an accessory. Just like him. You could have told me. If I told you, you would have tried to stop me. I would have helped. You were human. You are still human. The things I hunt... they do not care about your law degree or your quick thinking. They smell fear. They smell blood. I am not afraid of you. You should be. He reached out. His hand hovered near her face. The heat from his palm prickled against her skin. She didn't pull away. The memory of his touch lingered from nights before the warehouse, before the silence. Rough fingers, gentle pressure. I thought you died in Avaros. Almost. Your father is from there. He is. Does he know you are here? He does not care where I am. Lucien lowered his hand. The loss of warmth left a chill on her cheek. He turned away, walking toward the small table covered in delivery receipts and maps. He picked up a slip of paper from the Golden Empress restaurant. Yu-Fei pays you poorly. It pays the bills. You could work for me. I work for myself. You are stubborn. I am independent. There is a difference. Not anymore. Lucien dropped the receipt. He walked back to her, stopping close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in the amber eye. The black pupil seemed to swallow the light around it. I am not leaving tonight. The flat has one bed. I will take the chair. The chair breaks if you look at it wrong. Then I will stand. Aurora looked at the door, then back at him. The tension in her shoulders refused to unwind. The hurt sat in her chest like a stone, heavy and immovable. But the attraction hummed beneath the skin, a live wire connecting them despite the months of silence. Why now? The barrier between the realms is thinning. Things are coming through. Things that know your name. You think I need protection. I know you do. I survived Evan. I survived Cardiff. I survived you. You survived because I was watching. She stepped into his space. The height difference forced her to tilt her head back. She poked a finger into his chest. The suit fabric felt smooth, cold. If you stay, you stay on my terms. No demons in the flat. No deals made over my head. No disappearing. Lucien looked down at her. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, rare and dangerous. Agreed. And you buy dinner. I brought takeout. He gestured to the bag on the floor near the umbrella. Steam curled from the top, carrying the scent of spicy beef and ginger. Aurora looked at the bag, then at him. The anger hadn't vanished, but it had shifted, making room for something else. Something warmer. Put it on the table. Lucien bent to retrieve the bag. The movement pulled the suit tight across his back. He straightened and placed the container on the table. He did not sit. He waited, watching her with those unnerving eyes. Aurora walked to the table and opened the container. The heat wafted up, fogging her glasses slightly. She took a plastic fork from the bag. Sit down, Lucien. I said I would stand. Sit. Before I change my mind and lock you out. He pulled out the wooden chair. It creaked under his weight but held. He rested the cane against the table leg. The ivory handle gleamed in the kitchen light. Eat. You first. I am not hungry. Eat. Lucien picked up a fork. He took a bite of the beef. He chewed slowly, watching her over the rim of the plastic container. It is cold. It is fine. Nothing is fine, Rory. The use of the nickname struck her. Only Eva called her that. Hearing it from Lucien felt like a violation and a comfort all at once. She took a bite of the noodles. The spice burned her tongue. No. Nothing is fine. But we are here. For now. For now. The rain intensified outside, drumming against the glass. The noise from Silas' bar below grew louder as the crowd inside swelled. A glass broke somewhere down the stairs. Neither of them flinched. They sat in the small flat, surrounded by the remnants of a life paused, eating cold takeout in the silence of a truce neither fully trusted. Lucien reached across the table. His fingers brushed the sleeve covering her wrist. He did not push it up. He just rested his hand there, a anchor in the storm. Aurora did not pull away.