Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAXF64WTVFQWE1CMRF53GZ

The chipped paint on the doorframe felt rough under Rory’s palm as she leaned against it, breathing shallow. Three deadbolts clicked, one after another, a small, defiant ritual against a world that felt increasingly unsteady. Ptolemy, Eva’s tabby, wound around her ankles, a warm weight offering minimal comfort. She hadn’t expected him to be so…present. Not after two years. Not after the way things ended. The knock hadn’t been a tentative rap, a question. It had been a demand, three solid strikes that vibrated through the floorboards. A ghost revisiting. She adjusted the worn cardigan around her, pulled tighter than necessary against the mild October chill. “Eva?” she called, though a knot in her stomach told her it wasn’t her friend. “Don’t bother with the charade, Carter.” Rory flinched. A voice she’d spent months trying to scrub from her memory. A voice coated in honey and regret. She unlocked the final bolt, the metal protesting with a groan, and pulled the door open. Lucien stood there, filling the small doorway with the dark gravity of a storm cloud. He hadn’t changed. Still impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that likely cost more than her month’s rent. Still radiating an unnerving elegance. His platinum blond hair was slicked back, revealing the sharp angles of his face. His eyes…god, his eyes. One amber, burning with a contained fire, the other black, a void threatening to swallow the light. He held an ivory-handled cane, the polished surface gleaming. She knew what was concealed within, a thin blade honed to a brutal point. An accessory. Like a tie. “What are you doing here?” The question didn’t come out as sharp as she intended. More of a breathless whisper. He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted over her, slow and deliberate, lingering on the faint crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. A relic of a childhood climbing accident she’d long since forgotten he’d noticed. A discomforting flush warmed her cheeks. “I require a favor.” His French accent laced each word, smooth and dangerous. Rory straightened, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I highly doubt that. You always *required* favors. Never offered them." A flicker of…something crossed his face. Amusement? Pain? It vanished before she could decipher it. “Times change, *chérie*.” He stepped inside without invitation, a subtle assertion of dominance that yanked at old wounds. Ptolemy hissed, arching his back and puffing up his fur, then bolted under the sofa. Good. Best to keep the cat out of this. The flat felt smaller with him in it, the air thicker, charged with an energy she’d thought she’d contained. Books towered from every surface, scrolls overflowed from shelves, and research notes littered the small table. Eva’s chaos was usually comforting. Tonight, it felt suffocating. “I’m not inclined to do anything for you, Lucien.” She moved back, putting a foot in front of the other and bumping into the cluttered table. A stack of papers swayed, threatening to topple. He caught the papers before they fell, his fingers brushing hers. A jolt, unwelcome and familiar, shot up her arm. He didn't release her hand immediately. “Such hostility.” He released her hand and arranged the papers with a deliberate care that felt pointed. “I assumed, after…everything, we could manage a modicum of civility.” “Civility?” Her laugh was brittle. “You walked out on me, Lucien. Remember that? No note, no call. Just…gone.” His jaw tightened. "That is hardly the complete story, Carter." “Oh, enlighten me.” She crossed her arms, trying to project an indifference she didn’t feel. “Was it the demands of your…demon business? Did father disapprove? Or were you simply bored?” “Don't.” “Don’t what? Don’t speak the truth? Don't remind you of your extremely bad habit of leaving people hanging?” “You know why I left.” The black in his eye seemed to deepen, absorbing the light. “Do I?” She tilted her head, letting her hair fall forward. “Because you decided I was too much trouble? Too…human?” He took a step closer, crowding her space. “You were reckless. Endangering yourself, and by extension, me.” "Oh, right. *You* were worried about *me*. How very touching.” The sarcasm dripped from her words. “I recall you enjoying the danger. Enjoying the thrill.” “There’s a difference between calculated risk and willful stupidity.” “And you decided I fell squarely into the latter category?” “I decided I couldn’t…protect you.” He said the last part barely above a whisper, his gaze fixed on a point just past her shoulder. The admission, so quiet, so unexpected, momentarily disarmed her. Protection. That had always been the undercurrent, hadn’t it? His need to control, disguised as concern. “I don’t need protecting,” she said, her voice steadier now. He finally met her eyes, the amber one blazing. “Everyone needs protecting, Carter. From themselves, if not others.” A tense silence descended, broken only by the distant rumble of traffic. Rory stared at him, searching for a flicker of the man she’d once thought she knew. The man who'd shared late-night conversations over cheap wine, the man who’d held her while she wept, the man who'd vanished without a trace. “What’s the favor?” she asked, the question clipped and devoid of emotion. He shifted, the tension easing slightly. “A retrieval. Someone has acquired an object. An object that belongs to…a mutual acquaintance.” “An object? What kind of object? And what does this have to do with me?” “It’s a grimoire. Bound in dragon hide. Very old. And its previous owner is rather…unhappy about its disappearance.” He offered a wry smile. “Let's just say upsetting him isn’t conducive to a peaceful existence.” Rory frowned. “You come to me for this? You with your connections, your…resources?” “My resources are presently…tied up.” He hesitated. “And the person who took it…she knows my methods. She knows how I operate. You, however, are…unpredictable. A ghost in the system.” She scoffed. “So, I’m your cleanup crew?” “A discreet operative.” “I deliver food for a living, Lucien. Not steal magical books.” She gestured around the cramped flat. “Look at this place! I'm barely keeping things together." “You’re resourceful, highly intelligent, and you have a knack for blending in. Qualities that are proving useful.” He paused, and his voice lowered. “And I know you’re good at finding things.” A memory surfaced. A frantic search for a stolen amulet, a hidden alleyway, a shared moment of triumph. Her hand had brushed his and the force of it made her heart stop. “What’s in it for me?” she asked quietly, despite herself. He didn’t immediately respond, his gaze sweeping over her face. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken things. She held his gaze, refusing to look away. Finally, he spoke. “Information. About Evan.” The name, spoken aloud, felt like a physical blow. Rory’s breath hitched. “What…what do you know about him?”