Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQK59PP70GPAJADDHC7C1P

The door swung open before Rory could knock a second time, and there he stood—Lucien Moreau, leaning against the frame like he’d been expecting her. His platinum hair was slicked back as always, the amber of one eye catching the dim hallway light while the other swallowed it whole. He wore one of his charcoal suits, tailored to perfection, the ivory handle of his cane resting against his thigh. The scent of bergamot and something darker, something like smoke, curled into the air between them. Rory’s pulse jumped. She hadn’t seen him in three months—not since that night in the alley behind Silas’ bar, when she’d walked away without looking back. “Aurora,” he said, voice smooth as aged whiskey. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten where Eva lives.” She exhaled through her nose. “I was in the neighborhood.” “Liar.” His mouth quirked, but there was no humor in it. “You only come to Brick Lane when you’re running from something.” Rory’s fingers twitched at her sides. She could lie again, but what was the point? Lucien had always seen through her. “Fine. I needed to talk to Eva.” “She’s not here.” He stepped aside, gesturing into the flat. “But you might as well come in.” The last time she’d been inside, the place had been a controlled chaos of books and scrolls, Ptolemy the tabby weaving between stacks like a furry sentinel. Now, the living room was even more cluttered, if that was possible. A half-empty cup of tea sat on the coffee table beside a leather-bound tome, its pages yellowed with age. The air smelled of old paper and the faint, spicy tang of the curry house downstairs. Rory hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.” Lucien shut the door behind her, the three deadbolts clicking into place with practiced ease. “You’re already here.” She turned, and suddenly the space between them felt too small. His heterochromatic gaze held hers, unreadable. “Why are *you* here, Lucien?” “Eva asked me to check on the wards.” He tapped his cane against the floor, a rhythmic *click-click* that set her teeth on edge. “She’s been jumpy since the incident at the docks.” Rory’s stomach twisted. The docks. That had been her fault—another mess she’d dragged Eva into. “Right.” Silence stretched, thick and heavy. Lucien’s fingers flexed around the cane’s handle, and for a second, she thought he might say something real. Instead, he turned toward the kitchen. “Tea?” “No.” He paused, then glanced back at her. “Something stronger, then?” She should leave. Every instinct screamed at her to walk out, to put distance between them before the past could claw its way back up. But her feet stayed rooted to the floor. “Whiskey. If you’ve got it.” Lucien’s lips curved, just slightly. “I always have whiskey.” He moved to the cabinet above the sink, pulling out a bottle of something dark and expensive-looking. Rory watched as he poured two fingers into a glass, the amber liquid catching the light. He didn’t ask if she wanted ice. He didn’t need to. When he handed it to her, their fingers brushed. A spark, sharp and electric, shot up her arm. Rory jerked back, sloshing whiskey over the rim of the glass. Lucien’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped, low and rough. “Careful.” She took a sip, letting the burn ground her. “You’re not usually this clumsy.” “And you’re not usually this quiet.” He leaned against the counter, swirling his own drink. “What’s really going on, Aurora?” The sound of her full name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. She set the glass down harder than she meant to. “Nothing. I just—” She cut herself off. *Just what?* Missed him? Hated him? Wanted to kiss him and strangle him in the same breath? Lucien pushed off the counter, closing the distance between them in two strides. “You just what?” Rory’s breath hitched. He was close enough that she could see the faint scar above his eyebrow, the way his pupils dilated when he looked at her. “I don’t know why I came here.” “Yes, you do.” His hand lifted, fingers hovering just shy of her cheek. “You came because you knew I’d be here.” She should step back. She *should*. But her body betrayed her, leaning into the heat of him. “That’s not—” “True?” His thumb grazed her jaw, sending a jolt through her. “Or just inconvenient?” Rory’s pulse roared in her ears. Three months of silence, of pretending she didn’t think about him every damn day, and now he was here, touching her like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You left first,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s hand stilled. “And you didn’t stop me.” “I *tried*.” “Not hard enough.” The words hung between them, sharp as broken glass. Rory’s chest ached. “What do you want from me, Lucien?” For a heartbeat, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then his fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back. “Everything,” he murmured. “But I’ll settle for the truth.” She should push him away. She *should*. But the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—made her reckless. “I missed you,” she admitted, the words spilling out before she could stop them. Lucien’s breath hitched. Then his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, and Rory melted into him, her hands fisting in his suit jacket. He tasted like whiskey and sin, and she wanted more. She *needed* more. He walked her back until her spine hit the wall, his body pressing against hers. “Say it again,” he growled against her lips. Rory’s heart hammered. “I missed you.” Lucien’s hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips. “Good.” His teeth grazed her bottom lip. “Because I’m not letting you walk away this time.” She should argue. She *should*. But the way he kissed her—like he was drowning and she was the only air—made her forget all the reasons this was a terrible idea. Ptolemy chose that moment to wind between their legs, purring loudly. Rory broke the kiss with a gasp, her cheeks flushing. “Your cat has terrible timing.” Lucien chuckled, low and dark, his forehead resting against hers. “He’s not the only one.” Rory swallowed hard. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. But as his hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, she realized she didn’t care. Not anymore.