Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAK9MPHAHNRYCFWCVTXGN5

The chipped paint on the doorframe felt cold under Rory’s palm. Three deadbolts clicked back, one after another, a practiced motion meant to ward off more than just unwanted callers. She hadn’t expected anyone, not tonight. The scent of cumin and something sweeter—cardamom, maybe—drifted up from the curry house below. She tugged the door open. Lucian stood on the landing, a stark figure against the dim hallway light. Charcoal suit immaculate, platinum hair gleaming. He hadn’t changed a bit. Not even the slight tilt of his head, the way his amber and black eyes assessed everything at once. An ivory-handled cane rested against his shoulder. “Well,” she said, voice rougher than she intended. “This is a surprise.” He didn’t offer a polite greeting, didn't even blink. Instead, his gaze raked over her—the faded band t-shirt, ripped jeans, the smudge of grease on her cheek from a late shift at Golden Empress. “Don’t pretend you’re not pleased to see me, Aurora.” Her jaw tightened. “Pleased isn’t exactly the word.” She stepped back, offering him room, but not warmth. “Come in, then. Unless you enjoy catching a chill.” He moved past her with a fluid grace that always irritated her. How did a man carry himself like that, like he owned the very air around him? Ptolemy, Eva’s perpetually unimpressed tabby, uncoiled from atop a stack of books and regarded Lucian with glacial disdain. “Charming,” Lucian remarked, nodding toward the cat. “Still ruling the roost, I see.” “Someone has to maintain order around here.” Rory moved to shut the door, blocking out the sounds of Brick Lane. The flat suddenly felt smaller, charged with a tension she hadn’t realized she’d been avoiding. Lucian leaned against the doorframe, casually observing the chaos of Eva’s research. Books overflowed from shelves, spilling onto the floor. Scrolls were haphazardly stacked on every surface. It looked like a hurricane had hit a library. “Still living in a…scholarly mess, I see.” “It’s called research,” Rory countered. “Eva’s working on something big.” “Always is.” He shifted his weight, the tap of his cane a quiet punctuation in the room. “Though her ‘big somethings’ rarely end well.” Rory bristled. Lucian had been condescending towards Eva from the moment they’d met. “She’s brilliant, and she’s careful.” “Brilliant people sometimes overlook the obvious.” His eyes, those mismatched pools of color, met hers. “Like a fondness for reckless men.” The air in the room thinned. It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. She turned away, busying herself with straightening a stack of papers that didn't need it. Damn him. He always had a knack for hitting her where it hurt. “What do you want, Lucian?” she asked, keeping her voice carefully level. “Must there be a reason?” He pushed off the doorframe, strolling further into the flat. “Can’t an old acquaintance pay a visit?” “You don’t do ‘visits’,” she said, meeting his gaze again. “You have things you want. Information, favors…or just a need to stir up trouble.” He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of sandalwood and something else—something cold and otherworldly. “Always so cynical, Aurora.” “Someone has to be.” The silence stretched, thick with unspoken history. It hadn’t been a short relationship, theirs. A whirlwind of stolen moments, shared secrets, and a connection that had felt…dangerous. And then, the abrupt, messy end. She hadn't seen him since. Months. Years, maybe. Time blurred when she actively tried not to remember. “I need your help.” The words were clipped, devoid of any pretense. Rory’s immediate reaction was disbelief. Lucian Moreau, asking *her* for help? It felt…wrong. “With what?” He hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “A retrieval. Something was taken. An object.” “What kind of object?” “One that shouldn’t have been taken.” He ran a hand through his hair, a rare display of frustration. "Irrelevant for now. What matters is finding it.” “And you came to me?” Rory asked, skeptical. “Why? Surely a master fixer like yourself has a network of contacts.” “This is…delicate.” He glanced around the flat, as if afraid of being overheard. "It requires a certain…discretion. And a specific skillset." That skillset being her knack for getting into places she shouldn't, her uncanny ability to read people, and a talent for improvisation learned from years of navigating London’s underbelly. She hadn’t used those skills much since leaving him. Since trying to build a normal life. “What’s in it for me?” she asked, her voice flat. “Let’s just say a considerable sum. Enough to…ease your financial burdens.” She scoffed. "You've been keeping tabs on me?" “Observing,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.” "Right." Rory turned away, needing a moment to recalibrate. She didn’t need his money. But the thought of working with him again… It was a dangerous temptation. Everyone told her to stay away. Eva included. “It’s a simple job, Aurora,” Lucian continued, his voice softer now. “In and out. Minimal risk.” “You always say that.” She said it without thinking, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. He didn’t deny it. Instead, he studied her, his expression unreadable. "You haven't lost your edge, I see." “I have.” She met his gaze, steeling herself. “I’m trying to.” He moved closer again, invading her space. She should step back, create distance. But she found herself rooted to the spot. "And is it working?" “That’s none of your business.” “Isn’t it?” He reached out, his fingers brushing against the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. A jolt of electricity shot through her. She hadn't shown that scar to anyone in years. Rory instinctively pulled her hand away, her pulse hammering in her ears. "Don't." “Don’t what?” His voice was a low murmur. “Don’t remind you of what we had? Don’t remind you that beneath the cynicism, beneath the delivery job and the life you’re pretending to build, there's still a part of you that…craves something more?” She hated him for knowing. Hated him for seeing through her defenses. Hated him for the way he made her feel—vulnerable, flustered, and achingly aware of the space between them. “Get out, Lucian,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. He didn’t move. He simply looked at her, his expression a mixture of regret and something like…hope. “Think about it, Aurora. The object needs to be found. And you…you need an adventure.”