Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPG28CBWYH6X6KNCT26C1B

The third deadbolt clicked. A chain rattled. The door swung open just wide enough to reveal a sliver of Eva’s face—eyes narrowed, hair piled into a messy bun—before it stopped dead. Aurora froze, fingers still curled around the bottle of wine she’d grabbed from the off-licence. The air between them thickened, heavy with the kind of silence that only came when two people had too much to say and no idea where to start. Eva exhaled through her nose, arms crossing over a faded band T-shirt. “Well. This is a surprise.” Aurora lifted the bottle a fraction, like it might explain everything. “Thought you could use a drink.” A beat. Then Eva’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “You always did have terrible timing.” The door opened wider, just enough to let Aurora slip inside. The flat smelled the same—incense and old paper, with the faint tang of curry from the restaurant below. Ptolemy, the tabby, wound around her ankles before darting off into the shadows. Eva didn’t move from the doorway. “You look like hell.” Aurora set the wine on the cluttered coffee table, her scarred wrist catching the light. “Thanks. You look…” *The same. Exactly the same.* “Busy.” Books teetered in stacks along the walls, scrolls unrolled across the sofa like a half-finished puzzle. A single lamp cast long shadows, turning Eva’s sharp features into something almost unreadable. “Busy’s an understatement.” Eva finally stepped back, shutting the door with a firm click. “What are you doing here, Rory?” The nickname hit like a punch to the ribs. No one else called her that anymore. Aurora turned, fingers brushing the spine of a book on demonic sigils—Lucien’s handiwork, probably. “Needed to talk.” “About?” “Everything.” Eva’s laugh was dry, humourless. “That’s not an answer.” Aurora faced her fully then, the weight of the last two years pressing between them. Eva’s dark eyes flickered over her, taking in the delivery jacket still slung over one shoulder, the way her hair had grown out since the last time they’d seen each other. Since the last time they’d *spoken*. “Fine.” Eva crossed her arms again. “Talk.” The words stuck in Aurora’s throat. She’d rehearsed this a dozen times on the Tube ride over, but now, under Eva’s stare, they all sounded stupid. *I missed you. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left like that.* Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled note she’d found tucked into her last pay packet from the Golden Empress. Eva’s name was scrawled across it in Yu-Fei’s precise handwriting. Eva didn’t take it. “What’s that?” “A warning.” Aurora unfolded it, smoothing the creases. “Yu-Fei thinks someone’s been asking about you. Someone dangerous.” The flat went still. Even the hum of the fridge seemed to quiet. Eva’s fingers twitched at her sides. “And you believed her?” “She’s never lied to me before.” A muscle in Eva’s jaw tightened. “Neither have I.” The words hung there, heavy and unspoken. *Until you did.* Aurora swallowed. “I know.” Eva turned away first, snatching the note from her hand. She scanned it, then tossed it onto the pile of papers on the desk. “Great. Another problem.” “You’re not even going to ask who it is?” “Does it matter?” Eva’s voice was sharp, but her back was to Aurora now, shoulders tense. “It’s always *someone*. Always something.” Aurora stepped closer. “It matters to me.” Eva whirled around. “Why? Because you suddenly care again?” The words stung. Aurora met her gaze head-on. “I never stopped.” Eva’s breath hitched. For a second, the anger in her eyes wavered, something raw and hurt flickering beneath. Then she shut it down, her expression smoothing into something unreadable. “Bullshit.” Aurora reached for her. Eva flinched back. “Don’t.” Aurora’s hand dropped. “I came because I was worried.” “You came because you *felt guilty*.” Eva’s voice was low, controlled. “There’s a difference.” Aurora’s fingers curled into fists. “Maybe I did. Maybe I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in trouble.” Eva’s laugh was bitter. “I’ve been in trouble since the day I met you.” The words cut deep. Aurora took a step back, her hip knocking against the desk. A stack of books wobbled. She steadied them, her pulse hammering in her throat. “Then let me help.” “Help?” Eva’s voice cracked. “You want to help *now*?” Aurora met her gaze. “Yes.” Eva stared at her for a long moment, her chest rising and falling too fast. Then she turned away, rubbing her temples like she could press the frustration out of her skull. “You can’t just walk back in here after two years and act like nothing happened.” “I know.” “Do you?” Eva’s voice was quiet now, dangerous. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.” Aurora’s throat tightened. “I made a mistake.” “No.” Eva faced her again, eyes burning. “You made a *choice*.” The air between them was electric, charged with everything they’d never said. Aurora could feel the heat of her, the way Eva’s breath came faster when she was angry, the way her fingers flexed like she was fighting the urge to reach out—or push away. “I was scared,” Aurora admitted. Eva’s laugh was hollow. “Scared? Of what?” “Of this.” Aurora gestured between them. “Of how much I—” She stopped herself. Too much. Too soon. Eva’s expression shuttered. “Don’t.” Aurora’s hands clenched. “I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.” “Then why did you?” The question hung there, sharp and unanswered. Aurora looked away first, her gaze landing on the half-empty teacup on the desk, the way the dregs had stained the porcelain. “Because I thought it was easier.” Eva’s voice dropped to a whisper. “For who?” The silence stretched. Aurora could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Then Eva exhaled, long and slow, like she was letting go of something. “You should go.” Aurora didn’t move. “Not until we fix this.” “There’s nothing to fix.” Eva’s voice was tired now, the fight draining out of her. “You left. That’s it.” “It’s not that simple.” “It is.” Eva turned away, her back rigid. “People leave, Rory. That’s what they do.” Aurora reached for her again, this time catching her wrist. Eva stiffened but didn’t pull away. “Not this time,” Aurora said. Eva’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled into Aurora’s sleeve, just for a second, before she let go. The flat was too small, the air too thick. Aurora could see the pulse in Eva’s throat, the way her lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Then the moment broke. Eva stepped back, her voice steady again. “Fine. You want to help? Then help. But don’t expect this to change anything.” Aurora nodded, the weight in her chest easing just a fraction. “Deal.” Eva grabbed a jacket from the back of a chair, shoving her arms into the sleeves. “We’ll start with Yu-Fei. If she’s warning you, she knows more than she’s saying.” Aurora followed her to the door, the space between them still charged, still unresolved. Eva paused with her hand on the knob, her back to Aurora. “And Rory?” “Yeah?” Eva didn’t turn around. “Next time you run, make sure I don’t find you.” Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Aurora stood there for a long moment, the echo of Eva’s words settling into her bones. She wasn’t running anymore.