Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPFB4B69DX5FVY2VG6A0GA

The deadbolt scraped back with a sound like a knife being drawn. Rory’s breath hitched, fingers tightening around the edge of the door. The chain rattled, the last barrier between her and the hallway’s dim light. Lucien stood there, one hand resting on the ivory head of his cane, the other adjusting the cuff of his charcoal suit. His amber eye caught the light from the stairwell, sharp as a blade. The black one swallowed it whole. "You’re not Eva." Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat. "No. She’s at work." A beat. The scent of bergamot and something darker, like burnt sugar, curled into the flat. Ptolemy wound between Lucien’s ankles, tail flicking, but the cat’s usual hiss was absent. Traitor. Lucien’s gaze flicked past her, taking in the clutter of scrolls on the coffee table, the half-empty mug of cold tea, the way Rory’s hoodie swallowed her frame. "May I come in?" "No." The word hung between them, brittle. Lucien exhaled through his nose, a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so hollow. "I didn’t think you’d answer the door if I called first." "You didn’t call. You just showed up." Rory’s fingers ached from gripping the door. "What do you want?" "To talk." "About what?" "About why you’ve been avoiding me for three months." The accusation landed like a punch. Rory’s jaw set. "I haven’t been avoiding you." "Then why haven’t I seen you at Silas’? Why do your deliveries to the Golden Empress suddenly go to the back door instead of the front? Why—" His voice cracked, just once. "Why did you leave without saying goodbye?" The air in the flat turned thick, suffocating. Rory’s wrist burned where the crescent scar sat, a ghost of old pain. She stepped back, not inviting him in, but not shutting the door either. "You know why." Lucien’s knuckles whitened around his cane. "Because of what happened at the docks." "Because you lied to me." "I didn’t lie." "You didn’t tell me the truth." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Would you have believed me if I had?" Rory’s chest tightened. She remembered the way his skin had burned under her touch that night, the way his pupils had slit like a cat’s in the dark. The way he’d looked at her when she’d pulled away, like she’d driven a knife between his ribs. Ptolemy meowed, breaking the silence. Lucien’s gaze dropped to the cat, then back to Rory. "I came because I need your help." Of course. Rory’s laugh was bitter. "Right. Because that’s what this is about. Not the fact that you kissed me and then acted like it never happened." Lucien’s breath came out sharp. "I didn’t act like it never happened." "You didn’t act like it *meant* anything." The words hung there, raw. Lucien’s throat worked. "It meant something." Rory’s pulse roared in her ears. "Then why didn’t you say that? Why did you let me walk away?" "Because I thought you needed space!" Lucien’s voice rose, then dropped, rough. "Because I thought if I pushed, you’d run. And I was right, wasn’t I?" Rory’s nails dug into her palms. "You don’t get to decide what I need." "No. But I do get to decide whether I’m going to let you pretend I don’t exist." Lucien’s gaze burned into hers. "So. Are you going to let me in, or are we doing this in the hallway?" The flat suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing in. Rory stepped aside. Lucien moved past her, his shoulder brushing hers, the contact electric. The door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t sit. Neither did she. The silence stretched, taut as a wire. Lucien broke it first. "I need your help with something. Something dangerous." Rory crossed her arms. "Of course you do." His mouth twisted. "Not like that. Not just because you’re good at thinking on your feet. Because you’re the only one who knows the full truth about me." Rory’s stomach twisted. "And what truth is that?" "That I’m not just some fixer." Lucien’s voice was low, controlled. "That I’m half-demon. That my father’s realm is coming for me. And that if I don’t stop it, London burns." Rory’s breath left her in a rush. She’d known, of course. She’d *seen* it. But hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. Lucien watched her, waiting. "You’re the only one who knows. The only one who can help me without running the other way." Rory’s fingers curled into fists. "And what happens after? When this is over? Do you go back to pretending I don’t exist?" Lucien’s gaze darkened. "I never pretended that." "Then what was that night at the docks? What was the kiss?" His jaw tightened. "A mistake." The word hit like a slap. Rory’s chest ached. "Right. Of course." Lucien’s hands flexed at his sides. "That’s not what I meant." "Then what did you mean?" "I meant—" He cut himself off, frustration flashing across his face. "I meant I shouldn’t have done it. Not like that. Not when you were vulnerable." Rory’s laugh was hollow. "I wasn’t vulnerable." "You’d just found out what I was." "And that changes things?" "Yes!" Lucien’s voice cracked. "It changes *everything*." Rory’s breath came fast. "Why? Because I’m human? Because I’m not some demon from Avaros?" Lucien’s eyes burned. "Because you’re *you*." The words hung between them, heavy. Rory’s pulse pounded in her throat. Lucien stepped closer. "I didn’t kiss you because I thought you were vulnerable. I kissed you because I couldn’t *not* kiss you. And then I let you walk away because I thought it was the right thing to do. But I was wrong." Rory’s heart hammered. "What are you saying?" Lucien’s gaze dropped to her mouth. "I’m saying I don’t want to pretend anymore." The air between them crackled. Rory’s lips parted, but no words came. Lucien’s hand lifted, his fingers brushing her jaw, tilting her face up. His touch was fire and ice, sending a shiver down her spine. "Tell me to stop." Rory’s breath hitched. She should. She *should*. But she didn’t. Lucien’s mouth crashed into hers, hungry, desperate. Rory’s hands flew to his chest, not pushing him away, but gripping his lapels, pulling him closer. His cane clattered to the floor, forgotten. His hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head, deepening the kiss. Rory’s mind spun. This was wrong. This was reckless. This was— Lucien pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips. "Tell me to stop." Rory’s fingers curled into his shirt. "Shut up." His laugh was dark, triumphant. Then his mouth was on hers again, and the world narrowed to the heat of his body, the taste of him, the way his hands mapped her like she was something precious. Ptolemy yowled, startling them both. Lucien broke the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead resting against hers. Rory’s pulse roared in her ears. Lucien’s thumb brushed her cheek. "We should talk." Rory’s laugh was shaky. "Yeah. We should." But neither of them moved.