Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVPNVM44RZ3QFHPPDN55PNR

First deadbolt. Brass bit into skin. Second deadbolt. Iron scraped against a rusted strike plate. Third deadbolt. A loud snap echoed down the empty stairwell. Rory pulled the warped wooden door inward. Lucien Moreau stood on the landing. Shadows settled into the sharp lapels of his charcoal suit. The bare bulb overhead flickered, washing a pale glare over his slicked-back platinum blond hair. A distinct layer of rain darkened the wool mapping his broad shoulders. He stood tall, both gloved hands resting on the smooth ivory hook of his cane. "Rory." His voice carried a familiar rough gravel. Rory clamped her fingers around the edge of the doorframe. Her knuckles stretched raw and white against the wood. "Give me one good reason to leave these locks open." Lucien shifted his weight. The mismatched eyes caught the hallway lighting—one a depthless void of black, the other a striking predator amber. "I lack safe shelters tonight." "This constitutes Eva’s private residence. We do not run a crisis center for wayward information brokers." "Eva runs an archival dig in Edinburgh. You occupy the premises." Rory inhaled the distinct sting of roasted cumin and garlic drifting up from the ground-floor curry house. She refused to break eye contact. The humid air between them carried the weight of their last encounter on a rain-slicked rooftop. Six months of radio silence radiated from his soaked clothes. "You have ten seconds." Lucien crossed the threshold. Rory yielded, stepping back into the cramped entryway. He pulled the heavy door shut, twisting the three deadbolts back into place with practiced efficiency. "Locking us in a confined space. Bold." Ptolemy dropped from the top shelf of the bookcase. The obese tabby cat landed with a heavy thump upon a pile of unrolled papyrus. He padded forward, weaving a deliberate figure-eight around Lucien’s wet leather oxfords. Lucien removed one glove. He scratched the animal behind the ears. "Felines offer better hospitality than their caretakers." "Ptolemy lacks a survival instinct." Books smothered every flat surface in the room. Precarious towers of bound folklore texts leaned against the peeling floral wallpaper. Loose astrological charts carpeted the floorboards. Lucien navigated the chaotic maze of Eva’s research without breaking his stride. The dark rubber tip of his cane found the rare bare patches of wood. Rory crossed her arms. Her thumb found the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. The raised skin burned hot under her own touch. "State your business, Lucien." He planted the cane in front of him. "Three hounds from Avaros caught my scent outside Covent Garden. My established transit lines possess too much risk right now. I need a secured roof until sunrise." "You dragged hellhounds to Brick Lane. To me." "Your intellect outshines your defensive posturing. You mapped the ward system for this exact building." "You burned the bridge connecting us." His amber eye tracked the warm glow of the desk lamp. He moved past a stack of translating dictionaries, coming to a halt a foot away from her. The aroma of copper, ozone, and wet wool masked the ancient smell of Eva's paper hoards. "Circumstances demanded an immediate departure." "You vanished into smoke." "I insulated you from an underworld turf war." Rory stepped over a sprawling map of London ley lines. She tilted her chin up to meet his height. A vein pulsed steadily against his crisp white collar. "You assume the role of my savior. I navigated supernatural debts long before you barged into Golden Empress. I survived Evan. I outsmarted minor demons on my delivery routes. You made a choice to leave." Lucien tightened his grip on the cane handle. The leather of his glove groaned under the pressure. "I watched a low-level enforcer put a serrated blade to your throat over my miscalculated gamble. My enemies wield weapons forged in Avaros fire. You wield no armor against that." "My armor is out-thinking them." "Flesh burns despite quick wit." Rory crowded his space. The heat radiating off his imposing frame clashed with the chill she harbored in her chest. "I survived." "Because I removed the target." "By turning into a ghost." He abandoned the cane. The lacquered wood clattered against a stack of thick encyclopedias. His hands hovered inches from her shoulders. He pulled them back, clasping them tight behind his back. "My absence secured oxygen in your lungs. Do not condemn me for prioritizing your pulse." "You stole my autonomy." Silence smothered the room. Ptolemy jumped onto the solitary velvet armchair, curling into a tight ball of orange fuzz. A deep purr vibrated through the floorboards beneath their boots. Lucien looked away. He focused his attention on an astronomical calendar pinned to the corkboard. "I carry a multitude of regrets, Aurora. Ensuring your survival dodges that list." "We operated as partners." "We cultivated a spark threatening the foundation of a powder keg." Rory reached for a stack of scattered notes, aligning the paper edges with a sharp slap against the table. "You severed my trust." "I protected my heart." The confession hung heavy. Rory dropped the papers. She searched his face for any hint of deception. The depthless black eye remained an unreadable abyss. The amber eye betrayed a fractured crack in his composure. The untouchable fixer of London stood stripped of his usual defensive maneuvers. "Half-demons do not admit to possessing hearts." "I function upon logic and self-preservation. You ruin the concept of both." Rory closed the last gap of space between them. The silver buttons of his vest brushed against the fabric of her worn sweater. "I demand an apology." "I apologize for the clumsy execution. I stand by the intent." "Arrogant." "Analytical." He brought a hand forward, wrapping his fingers around her left wrist. His thumb drifted over the crescent scar. The tactile pressure sent a spike of electricity up her arm. She commanded her feet to stay rooted. "You maintained the threshold wards." "Eva dictates the security measures." "You anticipated my return." "I anticipate chaotic fallout. You embody the concept." Lucien mapped the raised ridge of the scar with his thumb. The calluses on his skin scraped against her pulse point. "The hounds hunt supernatural bloodstains. They breach the perimeter by midnight." "This flat rests upon a ley line intersection. The ambient chaos scrambles their tracking." "A masterful calculation. Your mind retains its razor edge." "Save the flattery. We reside on terrible terms." A smirk broke the severe line of his mouth. "Terrible terms suit our dynamic." Rory snatched her arm from his grip. She stepped back, shoving a heavy Latin dictionary an inch across the table to reestablish a physical barrier. "Do not project comfort onto this arrangement. You take the armchair. I maintain the bed." "A generous concession." "A tactical placement. Upon a ward breach, you become the initial barrier." Lucien retrieved his cane from the encyclopedias. A metallic chime rang out as the hidden blade shifted inside the ivory sheath. "I prefer combat with shadow beasts over intellectual fencing with you." "A predictable preference. You lack the stamina for the latter." Rory gestured toward the velvet armchair. Ptolemy cracked an eye open, shooting a territorial glare at Lucien’s approaching form. "Evict the cat. Use the chair." Lucien approached the velvet seat. He ignored the animal, opting to claim the frayed footstool beside it. He extended his long legs, maneuvering around a chaotic stack of delicate star charts. The impeccable tailoring of his suit created a harsh contrast against the squalor of the Brick Lane apartment. Rory watched his movements from the kitchen entryway. A neon sign down the street slashed a crimson line across his sharp jaw. "I require tea." "Earl Grey. Devoid of sugar." "I cataloged your orders at Golden Empress, Lucien." "A simple reaffirmation." "I possess zero Earl Grey. You endure whatever loose-leaf scraps Eva left abandoned in the pantry." "I welcome the punishment." She turned toward the rusted electric kettle. She flicked the switch. The rusted coils hummed to life. She dug her fingernails into the cracked linoleum counter. Adrenaline waned, giving way to an exhausted ache. The six-month absence dissolved into a singular tense evening. Footsteps approached. The floorboards offered no warning sound beneath his weight. "You direct lethal intention at the countertop." "I design a poison for your specific constitution." Lucien stepped into the kitchenette. He leaned his hip against the counter rim, folding his arms across his chest. He turned his attention to the rain-streaked window. "Standard strychnine fails against Avaros genetics. I suggest alternative venom." "I know an apothecary operator in Soho." "Revenge demands a personal touch. Do not outsource the labor." Rory retrieved two mismatched ceramic mugs. She brought them down against the counter. "Explain the sudden honesty. You survive terminal encounters on a weekly basis. You dodge hellhounds without seeking my physical presence." Lucien lowered his chin. He traced the rim of an empty mug with a solitary finger. "The hunting pack carried specific instructions tonight. They bypassed my transit safehouses. They struck an Earth-bound contact to draw me into the open." Rory froze. Her hand hovered above the tin canister of tea leaves. "Name the contact." "Yu-Fei Cheung." Cold dread flooded her veins. Golden Empress. Her employer. Her sanctuary. "Did they breach the restaurant?" "Yu-Fei repelled the pack. She wields enough ancestral magic to raze a city block. She triggered the alarm protocol." "She initiated contact with you." "She instructed me to contain the fallout before the fallout consumed you." Rory launched the tea canister onto the floor. Dried leaves exploded across the linoleum tiles in a green cloud. "You lied in the entryway. You sold a story of seeking shelter." Lucien focused the weight of his mismatched stare upon her bright blue eyes. "I desire no physical shelter. I desire your removal from the crossfire."