Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8DGW3PX4QEEEAPPEP40CS

The front door of Eva’s flat groaned under the weight of the deadbolt, the old wood splintering slightly as it gave way. Aurora Carter stepped inside, her boots crunching over the scattered papers and half-eaten takeaway boxes that littered the floor. The air smelled of damp wool and something faintly metallic—old coffee, maybe, or the faintest trace of the demon’s perfume she’d caught on Lucien’s suit jacket earlier. She didn’t look back at the door. The flat was always like this—chaotic, alive with the hum of forgotten ideas and the quiet, stubborn energy of someone who refused to let things die. The walls were lined with shelves of books, their spines dog-eared, some cracked from years of handling. A single lamp flickered, casting long shadows across the cluttered desk where Eva had once scribbled notes in a mix of languages. Aurora kicked off her shoes and let her scarf fall to her waist, the fabric brushing against the small crescent scar on her wrist. She moved toward the kitchen, where the scent of garlic and chili clung to the air like a ghost of the night before. The fridge hummed, its contents untouched—milk, a half-eaten sandwich, a bottle of water that had been there since last week. “You’re back,” Eva said without turning. Aurora froze. The voice was low, rough, the kind of voice that had once belonged to someone who knew how to hold a knife. She turned slowly, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. Eva sat at the table, her legs crossed, her dark hair pulled back into a loose braid. The cat, Ptolemy, watched her from the armchair, tail flicking lazily. “You know I’m not supposed to be here,” Aurora said, voice steady despite the way her chest tightened. Eva didn’t look away. “You’re not.” Aurora exhaled sharply, her breath fogging the air. “I came to talk about the job.” “Oh.” Eva leaned back, the chair creaking. “You’re not here for that.” “Then what the hell are you doing here?” A beat of silence. The cat stretched, then flicked its tail at the empty space between them. “You left me,” Eva said, voice quieter now, almost sad. “After everything.” Aurora’s jaw clenched. “I had to.” “And now you’re back.” “Because you’re the only one who still believes in me.” Eva’s fingers drummed against the table. “I always did.” Aurora’s eyes burned. “You don’t understand.” “No,” Eva said softly. “I don’t.” The kitchen light flickered again, casting long shadows across the walls. Aurora reached for the coffee machine, the machine itself old and stubborn, refusing to cooperate. She poured herself a cup, the bitter brew burning her throat. “You’re not the only one who’s been hurt,” she said, voice rough. “You just didn’t see it.” Eva didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She handed it to Aurora without looking up. Aurora took it, the paper warm from her fingers. It was a map, crudely drawn, marked with a single location: a warehouse on the docks. A place she’d never been before. “This isn’t about the job,” Eva said. “This is about you.” Aurora’s stomach twisted. “What the hell is this?” Eva stood, her movements slow, deliberate. “You’re coming with me.” The cat hissed, tail lashing. Aurora’s hands shook as she unfolded the map. “You’re not making any sense.” “You’re not supposed to,” Eva said, stepping closer. “But you’re here now.” The front door slammed shut behind her.