Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY864BPYDD4Q81FSJWWHJJT

The door to Eva’s flat creaked open before Aurora could even reach for the deadbolt, the hinges protesting like an old man’s joints. She froze, her fingers hovering over the brass knob, the scent of damp wool and something sharper—like ozone after a storm—wafting through the narrow gap. The air in the hallway thickened, pressing against her ribs. She knew that smell. Knew the way it curled around her like a promise, then a threat. “You’re late,” a voice drawled from the darkness, smooth as whiskey poured over ice. Aurora exhaled, her breath fogging the air between them. “Lucien.” His cane tapped against the linoleum floor as he stepped into the dim glow of the hallway lamp, the amber eye of his heterochromatic gaze locking onto hers. The other one—black as a void—seemed to drink her in, slow and deliberate. He wore the same tailored charcoal suit as always, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders, the platinum blond hair slicked back with an effortless precision that made her fingers itch to mess it up. The cane in his hand was ivory, elegant, but she knew better. She’d seen the blade once, glinting in the firelight of some back-alley deal gone wrong. “You look like hell,” he said, tilting his head. “Or maybe that’s just how you always look.” Aurora rolled her eyes, but her pulse jumped. “And you look like you’ve been sleeping in a brothel.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere, *ma chérie*.” She stepped back, pressing her shoulder against the doorframe, and the deadbolt clicked shut behind her. The flat was a maze of books and scrolls, the kind of place where Eva could lose herself for hours without ever leaving the room. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, lifted his head from his perch on the windowsill, tail flicking in disapproval. He didn’t like visitors. Lucien didn’t seem to notice. His gaze swept over the cluttered space, landing on the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. “You’re drinking alone again.” “It’s not alone if you’re here,” she said, though her voice was lighter than she felt. He chuckled, low and rich, and Aurora’s stomach twisted. She hated how much she still remembered the sound of it. “You’re not here for the whiskey,” she said, crossing her arms. “What do you want?” Lucien leaned against the doorframe, his cane resting against the wall beside him. “I want to know why you’re running from me.” Aurora’s breath hitched. “I’m not running.” “Then why haven’t you answered my messages?” “Because I don’t owe you an explanation.” His smile faded, just slightly. “You always did have a sharp tongue.” “And you always did have a way of making me forget how to use it.” A beat of silence. The air between them crackled, charged with something neither of them named. Then Lucien pushed off the doorframe, his cane clicking against the floor as he moved deeper into the flat. “Sit down.” Aurora didn’t move. “I’d rather stand.” “Suit yourself.” He dropped into Eva’s armchair, the fabric groaning under his weight. “So. Tell me about this job you’ve taken.” Her fingers twitched at her sides. “What job?” “The one that’s keeping you so busy you can’t spare five minutes to return my calls.” Aurora’s jaw tightened. “I don’t work for anyone.” “Bullshit.” Lucien steepled his fingers, his amber eye gleaming in the lamplight. “You’ve been slipping into that warehouse district at night. I’ve seen you. You’re not delivering takeout anymore.” She should have known. Lucien had eyes everywhere, especially when he wanted something. And he always wanted something. “It’s nothing,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. “It’s something,” he countered. “And I know you. You don’t get involved in things unless you’re either desperate or stupid.” Aurora exhaled through her nose. “I’m neither.” “Then why are you lying to me?” Because lying to you is easier than telling you the truth. Because the truth is messy, and you’ve always had a way of making it worse. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Lucien watched her, unblinking, his black eye fixed on her like a laser. “Fine,” she said at last. “I’m working with someone. But it’s not what you think.” “What do I think?” His voice was dangerously calm. “That you’re playing with fire again? That you’re going to get yourself burned?” Aurora bristled. “I know what I’m doing.” “Do you?” Lucien pushed himself up from the chair, the movement fluid, predatory. “Or are you just running from the last time you got burned?” The words hit her like a slap. She stepped back, her shoulder brushing against the bookshelf. “That’s not fair.” “Isn’t it?” He took a step closer, the cane tapping against the floor. “You left me, Rory. Just like that. No warning. No goodbye. And now you show up in my city, playing heroine in some back-alley scheme, and you expect me to just… what? Forgive you?” Aurora’s chest ached. “It wasn’t like that.” “Wasn’t it?” Lucien’s voice dropped, rough with something she couldn’t name. “You were supposed to be my anchor. My safe place. And then you just… disappeared.” “I had reasons.” “Bullshit.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against her wrist, just above the scar. The one from the childhood accident she’d never told him about. “You always had reasons. But you never told me.” Aurora pulled away, her skin tingling where his fingers had touched her. “You didn’t want to hear them.” “Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I want to now.” She looked away, her gaze landing on the half-empty whiskey bottle. “You know, this is a terrible idea.” “Is it?” Lucien’s hand closed around hers, his grip firm but not unkind. “Because I think we both know it’s not.” Aurora’s breath hitched. She could feel the heat of his body, the way it called to hers like a siren’s song. She could remember the way he used to kiss her, the way his hands had felt against her skin, the way he’d made her feel alive in a way no one else ever had. But then there was the hurt, the way he’d walked away when she’d needed him most. The way he’d let her go without a fight. “You’re playing with fire,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. Lucien’s thumb traced the inside of her wrist, just above the scar. “I’ve always been a sucker for fire.” Aurora’s pulse roared in her ears. She should have walked away. She should have told him to leave, to go back to whatever game he was playing. But the way he looked at her, the way his fingers traced patterns on her skin—it was like a drug, one she’d never been able to resist. “What do you want from me, Lucien?” she asked, her voice trembling. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “I want you to stop running.” Aurora closed her eyes. She could feel the weight of his words, the way they settled into her bones. She could feel the pull between them, the way it had always been, the way it would always be. When she opened her eyes again, Lucien was closer, his face mere inches from hers. His amber eye burned into hers, his black one dark with something she couldn’t name. “Tell me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. “Tell me what you’re really doing.” Aurora’s heart pounded against her ribs. She could lie. She could tell him anything. But she knew him. She knew that if she lied, he would see right through it. So she didn’t. Instead, she reached up and pulled him down, her lips crashing against his in a kiss that was desperate and hungry and full of all the things they’d never said. Lucien groaned, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat of him, the way he burned through her like a wildfire. When they finally broke apart, Aurora’s breath came in ragged gasps. Lucien’s chest rose and fell with his own, his gaze locked onto hers. “You’re still running,” he said, his voice rough. Aurora’s fingers trembled against his jacket. “I’m not running from you.” “No,” Lucien agreed, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen. “But you’re running from something else.” Aurora looked away, her gaze landing on the bookshelf. She could feel his eyes on her, see the way they searched her face, trying to find the truth in her eyes. “What is it?” he asked, his voice gentle now. Aurora swallowed hard. “I’m afraid.” “Of what?” She looked back at him, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “Of losing you again.” Lucien’s expression softened, his hand cupping her face. “You won’t.” Aurora’s breath hitched. She could feel the weight of his words, the way they settled into her soul. She could feel the way he held her, the way he made her feel safe, even when she knew she wasn’t. “Promise me,” she whispered. Lucien’s lips brushed against hers, his voice a whisper against her skin. “I promise.” And for the first time in a long time, Aurora believed him.