Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPS1BGYF01RXQBN25ZXYH5

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. "I see." She didn’t step aside. "What do you want?" His mouth quirked, not quite a smile. "Straight to the point. I forgot how much I missed that." The cane tapped against the floorboards. "May I come in?" "No." The word hung between them, brittle. Lucien exhaled through his nose, a sound too controlled to be a sigh. "Rory. It’s important." "Everything’s important with you." She crossed her arms, the crescent scar on her wrist pressing against her sleeve. "That’s the problem." His jaw tightened. The platinum of his hair gleamed under the bare bulb, making him look like something carved from ice. "I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t." Ptolemy meowed, loud and insistent, and butted his head against Lucien’s shin. The cat had never liked anyone this much. Rory’s stomach twisted. She stepped back. Lucien moved past her, the fabric of his coat brushing her arm. The flat shrank around him, the low ceiling, the stacks of books, the scent of old paper and curry spices from downstairs. He turned, cane resting against the back of the sofa, and watched her shut the door. The three deadbolts clicked into place, one after the other. "You always did lock up like you were expecting an invasion." Rory leaned against the door. "Habit." Silence. The kind that had always been too easy between them, before. Before the lies, before the way he’d looked at her like she was something fragile, something to be handled with care. Before she’d walked away. Lucien’s fingers drummed against the cane’s handle. "I need your help." She laughed. It came out sharp, ugly. "Of course you do." His eyes narrowed. "This isn’t a game." "Neither was the last time." The words slipped out before she could stop them. The air between them thickened, charged. Lucien’s throat worked. "That’s not—" "Not what?" Rory pushed off the door, stepping closer. The heat of him radiated through the space between them, familiar and unwelcome. "Not fair? Not the time? You don’t get to decide when we talk about it, Lucien." His gaze dropped to her mouth. Just for a second. Then he turned away, moving to the window, parting the curtains with one finger. The street below was slick with rain, neon signs bleeding into the pavement. "I’m not here to rehash the past." "Then why are you here?" He didn’t answer. The muscles in his back shifted under the tailored fabric of his suit. Rory knew that tension, the way he held himself when he was choosing his words like bullets. She exhaled. "You’re really not going to make this easy, are you?" Lucien turned, the amber of his eye catching the light again. "When have I ever?" The truth of that settled in her chest, heavy. She crossed to the kitchenette, yanked open the fridge. The clink of bottles filled the silence. "Drink?" "Please." She pulled out two beers, popped the caps, and handed him one. Their fingers brushed. A spark, a memory, the way his skin had always been too warm. She pulled back too fast, nearly sloshing the beer over her hand. Lucien took a sip, watching her over the rim of the bottle. "You look tired." Rory leaned against the counter. "And you look like you haven’t slept in a week." A ghost of a smile. "Touché." She took a long pull of beer, the bitterness grounding her. "Talk, Lucien. Or leave." He set the bottle down on the coffee table, the glass chiming against the wood. "There’s a job. High risk. High reward." "Of course there is." "It involves the Avaros Court." Rory’s grip tightened on the bottle. "Your father’s people." Lucien’s expression didn’t change, but his knuckles whitened around the cane. "Yes." She should say no. She should tell him to walk out that door and not come back. But the Avaros Court meant demons, meant power, meant things that could burn the world down if they got loose. And Lucien knew that. He knew her. Rory set her beer down. "What’s the job?" Lucien’s shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. "There’s an artifact. A key. It’s being moved through London in two days. I need someone to help me intercept it before it reaches its buyer." "Who’s the buyer?" "A collector. Human, but connected. Dangerous." She studied him. The way his suit fit him like a second skin, the way his hair never had a single strand out of place. The way his eyes tracked her, always watching, always calculating. "Why me?" Lucien’s gaze flicked to the scar on her wrist. "Because you’re the only one who can get close enough without being noticed." Rory laughed, short and humorless. "That’s rich, coming from you." His mouth twisted. "I’m serious." "So am I." She stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his amber eye, the way his pupils dilated. "You could’ve asked anyone. Why me?" Lucien didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. "Because I trust you." The words hit her like a punch. She turned away, pressing her palms against the counter. The cool surface steadied her. "You have a funny way of showing it." Behind her, the floorboards creaked. Lucien’s voice was low, rough. "I know." She should tell him to go. She should walk away. But the Avaros Court wasn’t something she could ignore. Not if people were going to get hurt. Rory turned. Lucien stood there, cane in hand, the picture of control. But his eyes betrayed him. The black one was too wide, the amber too bright. She exhaled. "Tell me about the key."