Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8PME2YZ6KPNS3PTG4T53C

The door swung open before the second knock even finished echoing through the narrow hallway. Rory stood there, her bright blue eyes widening as she took in the man framed in the doorway—Lucien Moreau, looking every inch the polished devil he was in his charcoal suit, the amber and black of his heterochromatic gaze locking onto hers like a challenge. “You,” she said, her voice steady despite the way her pulse jumped. “You,” he countered, stepping inside without invitation, his cane tapping once against the warped floorboards. The scent of his cologne—something dark and citrusy—lingered in the air, familiar and infuriating. “Still locking your doors like the world’s out to get you.” Rory didn’t move. She didn’t slam the door in his face, though every instinct screamed at her to. Instead, she crossed her arms, the small crescent scar on her left wrist peeking out from beneath the rolled sleeve of her oversized sweater. “What do you want, Lucien?” He didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked past her, taking in the chaos of Eva’s flat—the stacks of books, the half-empty teacups, the tabby cat Ptolemy curled on the couch like he owned the place. “I need your help.” A laugh escaped her before she could stop it, sharp and disbelieving. “My help? After everything?” His jaw tightened. “After everything,” he echoed, voice low. “But that’s not why I’m here.” Rory stepped back, not because she wanted to let him in, but because the hallway was too damn narrow. The flat smelled like old paper and Earl Grey, the same as it always had, but now it was mixed with the sharp edge of his presence. “Then why?” Lucien exhaled through his nose, the first sign of impatience. “Because I need you to trust me again.” The words hit like a physical blow. Trust. The one thing he’d shattered months ago when he’d walked away without explanation, leaving her to pick up the pieces of her life in London—pieces that had included running from Evan, from her own mistakes, from the way Lucien had made her feel like she could be more than just Rory Carter, the girl from Cardiff with a chip on her shoulder. She swallowed hard. “You lost that right.” His cane tapped again, a slow, deliberate rhythm. “I know.” Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Rory’s fingers twitched at her sides. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to forget the way his hands had felt against her skin, the way his voice had dropped when he’d whispered her name like it was a secret. Instead, she said, “Get out.” Lucien didn’t move. “Not until you hear me out.” “There’s nothing you could say that would make this okay.” “Maybe not.” His gaze flicked to the scar on her wrist, just for a second, before snapping back to her face. “But I can’t do this alone.” Rory’s breath hitched. She hated that he saw it—that he *knew*. Hated that he still had the power to unravel her like this. “What is it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. His expression darkened. “A job. Dangerous. And it needs someone with your skills.” She scoffed. “My skills? Last I checked, I was a delivery driver with a degree in Pre-Law I’ll never use.” “You’re smarter than that.” His tone was quiet, almost gentle. “And you’re brave. Even when you don’t want to be.” Rory’s chest ached. She remembered the way he’d looked at her in that dimly lit bar in Soho, the way he’d made her feel like she could take on the world. She remembered the way he’d kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered. And then she remembered the way he’d left. “No,” she said firmly. “I’m not doing this.” Lucien’s cane tapped once, twice. “You don’t have a choice.” Her head snapped up. “Excuse me?” “You’re already involved.” His voice was steel. “And if you don’t help, people are going to get hurt.” Rory’s stomach twisted. She knew that tone. Knew the look in his eyes. He wasn’t bluffing. Ptolemy chose that moment to stretch, his tail flicking lazily before he yawned, revealing his pink tongue. Rory’s fingers dug into her arms. “What people?” Lucien hesitated. “Eva.” The name hit her like a punch to the gut. Eva, her best friend, the one who’d dragged her to London in the first place, the one who’d kept her sane when Rory had been too broken to do it herself. “What did you do?” “I didn’t do anything.” His voice was rough. “But someone else did. And they’re coming for her.” Rory’s mind raced. “Why me?” “Because you’re the only one who can get to them first.” She wanted to refuse. Wanted to slam the door in his face and never look back. But the fear in his eyes—real, raw—stopped her. “Fine,” she said, the word tasting like ash. “But we’re doing this my way.” Lucien’s lips quirked, just for a second. “Always so stubborn.” Rory crossed her arms tighter. “And you always were a pain in my ass.” He chuckled, low and warm, and for a second, it was like no time had passed at all. Like they weren’t standing in Eva’s cramped flat with the weight of the world pressing down on them. Then his expression sobered. “Thank you.” Rory looked away, her throat tight. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re not out of this yet.” Lucien’s cane tapped once against the floor. “I know.” She exhaled, long and slow. “So. What’s the plan?” His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unyielding. “We start by trusting each other again.” Rory’s heart pounded. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that this wasn’t just another game, another way for him to manipulate her. But she couldn’t. Not yet. “Fine,” she said again, voice steadier this time. “But if you hurt me again, Lucien, I swear to God—” He held up a hand. “I know.” She studied him for a long moment, searching for the lie, the trick. But all she saw was the truth—raw and painful and undeniable. “Alright,” she said finally. “Let’s get this over with.” Lucien’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “That’s my girl.” Rory’s breath caught. She hated that he still had that effect on her. Hated that, despite everything, she still wanted to reach out and touch him. Instead, she turned away, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair. “Don’t call me that.” “Why not?” His voice was soft, almost teasing. “It’s true.” She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The way her pulse jumped, the way her skin prickled with awareness—it said enough. Lucien followed her out into the hallway, his cane tapping in rhythm with her racing heart. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in again, just like old times. Only this time, the stakes were higher. And this time, Rory wasn’t sure she’d survive.