Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAJ5Z2TNJPVKAQ9DYYD6DR

The chipped paint on the doorframe felt cool under Rory’s palm. Three deadbolts. All unlocked. She hadn’t expected him to actually be home. Not after… everything. She pushed the door open, the scent of turmeric and something ancient hitting her like a wave. Ptolemy, Eva’s tabby, immediately wound around her ankles, purring like a faulty engine. The flat was exactly as she remembered. Chaos organized into a semblance of order. Stacks of books threatened to topple from every surface, scrolls lay unfurled on the worn rug, and dried herbs hung in bunches from the curtain rod. A single lamp cast a warm glow on the interior, doing little to dispel the shadows gathering in the corners. Lucien stood near the window, back to her, a glass of something dark swirling in his hand. He still wore those tailored suits, the charcoal fabric molding to a frame that haunted her dreams. Even from behind, she registered the precise set of his shoulders, the elegant curve of his neck. “Charming of you to grace me with your presence.” His voice, a low rumble, didn’t turn. Rory tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear, heat creeping up her neck. “Needed to talk.” He finally turned, slowly. One eye, amber like aged whiskey, met hers, then slid to linger on the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist. A ghost of a touch brushed her memory. His fingers tracing that very spot. “Talk?” He took a slow sip of his drink. “Last time we ‘talked’ resulted in me being threatened with a lawsuit and you storming off in tears.” “That’s…a fair assessment.” She forced herself to meet his mismatched gaze. The black eye felt like a void, swallowing all light. “Things are different now.” “Are they?” He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement playing around his lips. "Because from where I'm standing, you’re still tracking mud onto my rug.” Rory glanced down at her boots, scuffed from a delivery shift. Rain slicked the soles. “Right. Sorry.” She shifted her weight. Ptolemy, tiring of her immobility, hopped onto a stack of books and began meticulously grooming himself. “Don’t apologize,” Lucien said, a hint of something softer underlying the sharpness. "Offer to replace it." He gestured with his glass. “Would you care for a drink? I have a rather exquisite Armagnac.” “I’m good.” She desperately wanted to say yes, to lean against his bar, to lose herself in the easy rhythm of their old conversations. But old conversations only led to new wounds, and she wasn’t sure she could handle another round. “Just…wanted to ask you about something.” “Then ask.” He took another sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. The silence stretched, thick and laced with unspoken history. “It’s about Avaros.” His expression didn't change, but the hand holding the glass tightened. “Avaros is a closed chapter. For both of us, I would have thought.” “Someone’s been asking questions. About me. About my…connection to it.” Rory watched his face, searching for a tell. He was a master of composure, but she’d learned to read the subtle shifts in his features. The way his jaw tightened, the flicker in his amber eye. “Asking questions? Who?” “I don’t know. Just heard whispers. Through the usual channels.” She was a delivery driver, not a spy. But living above Silas' bar and befriending Eva tended to pull you into things. Things you didn't ask for. “They seemed to think I had information. Something…valuable.” Lucien set his glass down on a nearby table, the crystal clicking against the wood. He walked towards her, and Rory found herself instinctively taking a step back. He stopped a foot away, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of sandalwood and something else, something inherently *him*. “Valuable how?” “They didn’t say.” Rory hated how small she felt under his scrutiny. “Look, I just wanted to know if you had any idea what this was about. You know more about that world than anyone I know.” He ran a hand through his platinum blond hair, ruffling the perfect slicked-back style. “You were a complication. A human dragged into something that wasn’t meant for you.” His gaze dropped to her wrist again, lingering on the scar. "I tried to shield you from it." “Shield me?” A wry laugh escaped her lips. “By disappearing without a word? By leaving me to deal with the fallout?” His jaw clenched. “I had my reasons.” "Oh, I'm sure you did." Rory crossed her arms, wanting to appear untouchable despite the tremor in her hands. “Reasons that involved not wanting your…world to interfere with your perfectly curated life.” “That’s not fair.” “Isn’t it? You always were so careful. So controlled.” She remembered the feel of his hand in hers, the moments when he’d let his guard down, the vulnerability she’d glimpsed beneath the polished exterior. Those moments felt like a lifetime ago. He reached out, his fingers hovering over her arm before dropping back to his side. “You were reckless. You rushed into things without understanding the consequences.” “And you were…distant.” Rory’s voice was softer now, the anger replaced by a simmering ache. “You never let me get close. Not really.” “I was protecting you.” “From what, Luc? From *us*?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. He flinched, a flicker of pain crossing his face. He turned away, walking back towards the window. “Don’t.” “Don’t what? Don’t point out the obvious? Don’t ask why you pushed me away when all I wanted was…” She trailed off, unable to voice the simple truth. All she’d wanted was him. “Don’t pretend you understood.” He spoke into the darkness, his voice barely a whisper. “You couldn't possibly understand the things I am.” “And you didn't think I deserved an explanation?” Rory stepped closer, her voice rising. "Didn't think I deserved to know *why* you vanished?" He turned back, his mismatched eyes blazing. “I did what I thought was best. For both of us.” He tilted his head, a subtle movement that somehow conveyed a world of regret. “Some doors are better left closed, Rory. Some secrets are better left buried.”