Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPVDS54JNPDHZ77Q5KEFHH

The door creaked open, revealing a sliver of warm light that spilled onto the dimly lit staircase. Aurora Carter, her bright blue eyes wide with surprise, stood in the doorway of her flat, her straight black hair slightly disheveled, as if she'd been running her fingers through it in frustration. She blinked, her gaze traveling up and down the figure standing before her, taking in the tailored charcoal suit, the slicked-back platinum blond hair, and the ivory-handled cane that she knew concealed a thin blade. "Lucien," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "What are you doing here?" Lucien Moreau offered her a small, enigmatic smile, his heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—searching her face. "Aurora," he greeted, his voice smooth and rich, like aged whiskey. "Or should I call you Rory? I believe that's what your friends call you." Rory's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of her nickname, a gesture that didn't escape Lucien's notice. She stepped back, allowing him to enter, and he brushed past her, the scent of his cologne—a mix of sandalwood and something darker, more exotic—lingering in the air. The flat was small, cramped, every surface covered with books, scrolls, and research notes. A tabby cat, Ptolemy, regarded Lucien with wary yellow eyes from his perch on the back of the couch. Lucien glanced around, taking in the clutter, the three deadbolts on the front door, the faint scent of curry wafting up from the restaurant below. "This is where you've been hiding, then," he remarked, turning back to face her. Rory closed the door, her back pressed against it as if bracing herself. "I'm not hiding," she said, her voice steadier now. "I'm living. There's a difference." Lucien raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a reminder of the past they shared. "Is there?" he asked softly. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're hiding from the world, Rory. From everything that happened." Rory pushed off the door, her eyes flashing with a familiar fire. "I'm not hiding," she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm trying to move on, Lucien. To forget." Lucien sighed, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the perfect slicked-back style. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know you are. And I know I'm the last person you want to see right now. But I need your help, Rory. I wouldn't be here if I didn't." Rory studied him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit. She knew Lucien was many things—a fixer, an information broker, a half-demon with a complicated past. But she also knew he was not a liar. Not to her. She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Come in, then," she said, stepping aside to let him pass. "But I can't promise I'll be able to help you. I'm not the person I used to be, Lucien. I'm not the person you knew." Lucien nodded, his expression serious. "I understand," he said, stepping further into the flat. "But I hope, perhaps, that you might still be the person I... cared for. The person I still care for." Rory's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening slightly at his words. She looked away, busying herself with making tea, her hands shaking slightly as she poured the hot water into the cups. She could feel Lucien's gaze on her, heavy and intense, and she knew he was waiting for her response. "I don't know what to say," she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to feel, Lucien. You know what happened between us. You know what he did to me." Lucien's expression darkened, his eyes flashing with a familiar anger. "I know," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And I swear to you, Rory, if I ever get my hands on that bastard, I'll make him pay for what he did to you. For what he put you through." Rory looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. She saw the truth in his words, the sincerity in his gaze, and she felt something inside her shift, something she thought she had lost forever. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Lucien. I need you to be here, to be present, to be the person I can lean on when I need to. I need you to be my friend." Lucien reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I'm here, Rory," he said softly. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I promise." Rory leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly as she savored the warmth of his hand on her skin. She knew that this was just the beginning, that there were still so many things left unsaid between them. But she also knew that she was ready to face them, ready to face him, and ready to face the future, whatever it might bring. She opened her eyes, her gaze meeting his, and she saw in his heterochromatic eyes a reflection of her own feelings, her own fears, and her own hopes. She took a deep breath, her hand covering his, and she smiled, a small, tentative smile that held the promise of something more. "Okay," she said softly. "Okay, Lucien. Let's do this. Let's face whatever it is that's coming, together." Lucien smiled back at her, his eyes warm and tender, and he leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "Together," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Always together, Rory. No matter what." And in that moment, surrounded by the clutter of her flat, the scent of curry wafting up from the restaurant below, and the warm, comforting presence of her friend, Rory felt a sense of peace wash over her, a sense of belonging, and a sense of hope for the future. She knew that the road ahead would not be easy, that there would be challenges and obstacles to overcome. But she also knew that she was not alone, that she had someone by her side who cared for her, who supported her, and who would stand with her, no matter what. And for now, that was enough.