Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7VZ6ME2W3XFGW7566PXYF

The door creaked open before Aurora had even reached the handle. The air inside Eva’s flat smelled of old paper and something faintly metallic—like the scent of a wound that hadn’t quite healed. Aurora froze. The scar on her wrist twitched. Lucien stood there, his cane tapping against the floor with deliberate precision, his amber and black eyes locked onto hers. The suit he wore was immaculate, but his posture was relaxed, almost too easy. She remembered the way he’d always been—too smooth, too sure of himself, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re late,” she said, voice rougher than she intended. He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m always late for things that matter.” The deadbolts clicked back into place with a sharp *click*. Aurora exhaled, her fingers brushing the scar on her wrist before she could stop herself. “You shouldn’t have come.” “Shouldn’t I?” His voice dropped, just a little. “You’re the one who didn’t answer my calls.” She turned away, her gaze flicking over the cluttered shelves—scrolls, half-empty jars of herbs, a half-finished sketchbook of some kind. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, blinked up at her from his perch on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily. “You know I didn’t,” she muttered. Lucien stepped closer, the cane’s tip brushing against the floorboards. “I know you didn’t.” Aurora’s breath hitched. The space between them felt smaller than it had in years. “Why?” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. The kind of book she’d seen him carry before—one that looked like it had been well-loved, its edges slightly worn. “This isn’t a warning,” he said, flipping it open. “It’s an invitation.” Aurora’s pulse jumped. She’d seen him with this book before, in the dim light of a back-alley deal, the way his fingers traced the pages like they were maps of something dangerous. Something she’d once wanted too much. “You’re not here to scare me,” she said, though she knew he was. “No,” he said, voice low. “I’m here to remind you.” The door swung shut behind him, cutting off the sound of the street outside. Aurora’s fingers curled into the scar on her wrist, the memory of Evan’s hands—rough, possessive—flashing through her mind. Lucien’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. “You were always good at running.” She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned away, her back to him, and reached for the book. The pages were thick, filled with sketches of faces—some familiar, some not. She flipped through them, her fingers brushing the ink. “What are you doing?” Lucien asked, stepping closer. Aurora didn’t look at him. “Looking for something.” “Like what?” She exhaled sharply. “Like answers.” Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor again, slow and deliberate. “You’re not the only one who’s been looking.” The book slipped from her hands. It landed on the floor with a soft *thud*, the pages fluttering open to a sketch of a woman with bright blue eyes—her own. Lucien’s expression darkened. “You shouldn’t have come back.” Aurora’s breath came faster. The air between them was thick, charged with something older than words. She reached for the book again, but Lucien’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist. “Let me go,” she hissed. He didn’t. Instead, he pulled her closer, his voice a whisper against her ear. “You don’t get to decide what happens next.” Aurora’s fingers dug into his coat, her nails biting into the fabric. “I don’t have to take it.” Lucien’s grip loosened just enough for her to pull away, but not before she saw the fire in his eyes. “You always did.” The door creaked open again, the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall. Aurora’s blood ran cold. Lucien’s voice dropped to a growl. “You’re not leaving.” Aurora’s gaze snapped to the door. The footsteps stopped. Then, a voice—Eva’s, sharp and amused. “Well, well. If it isn’t the two of you.” Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor, slow and steady. “Eva.” Aurora’s breath hitched. She’d forgotten how sharp Eva’s eyes were, how she could cut through lies like a knife. “You’re late,” Eva said, stepping into the flat. “Again.” Lucien’s gaze flicked to Aurora, then back to Eva. “I’m not here for you.” Eva’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, I know that. But you’re here for her.” Aurora’s stomach twisted. “I’m not.” Lucien’s voice was a low rumble. “You were always good at lying.” Eva’s fingers twitched, as if she wanted to reach for something—her knife, maybe, or a book, or something to keep them at bay. But she didn’t. Instead, she crossed her arms, her gaze never leaving Lucien. “You’re not the only one who’s been looking,” Aurora said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor once more. “I know.” Eva’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?” Aurora’s fingers curled around the book, her thumb brushing the ink. “Nothing.” Lucien’s voice was a whisper. “You’re not the only one who’s been looking.” The door swung shut behind them, the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall. Aurora’s breath came in shallow gasps, her fingers still wrapped around the book. Lucien’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. “You should have come back sooner.” Aurora’s pulse roared in her ears. The air between them was thick, charged with something older than words. She reached for the book again, but Lucien’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist. “Let me go,” she hissed. He didn’t. Instead, he pulled her closer, his voice a whisper against her ear. “You don’t get to decide what happens next.” Aurora’s fingers dug into his coat, her nails biting into the fabric. “I don’t have to take it.” Lucien’s grip loosened just enough for her to pull away, but not before she saw the fire in his eyes. “You always did.” The book slipped from her hands, landing on the floor with a soft *thud*. The pages fluttered open to a sketch of a woman with bright blue eyes—her own. Eva’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and amused. “Well, well. If it isn’t the two of you.” Aurora’s gaze snapped to the door. The footsteps stopped. Then, a voice—Eva’s, sharp and amused. “You’re late,” Eva said, stepping into the flat. Aurora’s breath hitched. She’d forgotten how sharp Eva’s eyes were, how she could cut through lies like a knife. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor, slow and steady. “I’m not here for you.” Eva’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, I know that. But you’re here for her.” Aurora’s stomach twisted. “I’m not.” Lucien’s voice was a low rumble. “You were always good at lying.” Eva’s fingers twitched, as if she wanted to reach for something—her knife, maybe, or a book, or something to keep them at bay. But she didn’t. Instead, she crossed her arms, her gaze never leaving Lucien. “You’re not the only one who’s been looking,” Aurora said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor once more. “I know.” Aurora’s fingers curled around the book, her thumb brushing the ink. “Nothing.” Lucien’s voice dropped to a growl. “You’re not leaving.” The door swung shut behind them, the footsteps retreating down the hall. Aurora’s gaze locked onto the book, the pages fluttering open to a sketch of a woman with bright blue eyes—her own. Lucien’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. “You should have come back sooner.” Aurora exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the book. The air between them was thick, charged with something she’d never felt before—something dangerous, something that burned. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor, slow and deliberate. “I know.” Aurora’s breath came faster, her pulse roaring in her ears. The book lay open on the floor, the ink of the sketch glowing faintly in the dim light. Eva’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and amused. “Well, well. If it isn’t the two of you.” Aurora’s gaze snapped to the door, the footsteps lingering just outside. She could hear the faint sound of Eva’s footsteps retreating, but the door remained shut. Lucien’s voice was a low rumble, his gaze never leaving hers. “You don’t get to decide what happens next.” Aurora’s fingers curled around the book, her thumb brushing the ink. The sketch of the woman with bright blue eyes stared back at her, unblinking. She exhaled, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The air between them was charged, thick with something she’d never felt before. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor once more. “You always did.” Aurora’s gaze locked onto the book, the pages fluttering open to the sketch. She reached for it, her fingers trembling. “Let me go,” she whispered. Lucien’s hand closed around her wrist, his grip firm. “You don’t get to decide.” Aurora’s breath hitched, her fingers digging into his coat. “I don’t have to take it.” Lucien’s voice was a growl, his grip tightening just enough to make her wince. “You always did.” The book slipped from her grasp, landing on the floor with a soft *thud*. The sketch of the woman with bright blue eyes stared back at her, unblinking. Aurora’s gaze snapped to Lucien’s, her pulse roaring in her ears. The air between them was thick, charged with something she couldn’t name. Eva’s voice echoed down the hall, sharp and amused. “You’re late.” Aurora’s fingers curled around the book, her thumb brushing the ink. The sketch of the woman with bright blue eyes stared back at her, unblinking. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor, slow and steady. “I’m not here for you.” Aurora exhaled sharply, her gaze locked onto the book. The air between them was charged, thick with something she couldn’t ignore. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. “I know.” Aurora’s breath came in shallow gasps, her fingers tightening around the book. The sketch of the woman with bright blue eyes stared back at her, unblinking. The door swung open again, Eva’s voice cutting through the tension. “Well, well. If it isn’t the two of you.” Aurora’s gaze snapped to the door, the footsteps lingering just outside. The book lay open on the floor, the sketch of the woman with bright blue eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Lucien’s voice was a low rumble, his gaze never leaving hers. “You don’t get to decide what happens next.” Aurora’s fingers curled around the book, her thumb brushing the ink. The sketch stared back at her, unblinking. Eva’s footsteps retreated down the hall, the door shutting behind them. Aurora’s breath came in shallow gasps, her gaze fixed on the book. Lucien’s cane tapped against the floor, slow and deliberate. “You should have come back sooner.” Aurora exhaled, her fingers trembling. The air between them was charged, thick with something she couldn’t name. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. The book lay open on the floor, the sketch of the woman with bright blue eyes staring back at her.