Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBEBYZ5F79HS1D2B70T3KER

The heavy metal tumbler clicked. Rory pulled the first deadbolt back, the bolt sliding into the receiver with a hollow clack. She shifted her weight, the second lock resisting before she gave it a sharp shove. The chain rattled, then fell silent. She gripped the handle, knuckles white, and turned the key. Light spilled into the hallway from the street, cutting a sharp rectangle across the floorboards. She didn't open the door fully. She held it just wide enough to see the person standing there. Lucien Moreau didn't blink. He stood on the landing, wearing a charcoal suit that swallowed the evening light. Rain droplets clung to the lapels of his coat. He leaned heavily on an ivory-handled cane, the metal tip tapping against the brick of the step. His platinum hair stayed dry under the hood of the building's awning. Rory kept the door half-closed. She had three deadbolts for a reason. You aren't on the list, she said. The cat on the sofa behind her shifted. Ptolemy meowed, a long, mournful sound, before settling back down. Books stacked on every surface of the cramped one-bedroom blocked the path to the window. You know I am not on the list, Lucien said. His voice held a French lilt that had worn off, rougher now. He stepped forward. Rory held the door in place, the wood digging into her palm. His heterochromatic eyes—one amber, one black—fixed on her face. He looked through her, looking past the exhaustion in her blue eyes to the fatigue in her bones. Why are you here? To ask if you ate. I work. He stepped around her hand, pushing the door open. He didn't wait for an invitation. He crossed the threshold, closing the gap between them. The smell of his cologne, wood smoke and expensive rain, clashed with the curry spices drifting up from the kitchen below. Ptolemy hissed at the intruder. Lucien didn't look down. He looked at Rory. He took off his coat and draped it over the armchair. The motion was slow, calculated. You locked it, Rory said. She stepped back, letting her shoulders brush the door frame. The wood was cold. Because Evan knows where I live now. I heard he is in Cardiff. He got out. The room fell silent. The hum of the curry house vent below vibrated through the floor. Lucien walked into the living space, his cane clicking against the floorboards. He stopped in front of the stacks of research notes piled on the table. He picked up a paper with a gloved hand and set it back down. I told you to be careful. You told me to be smart. Smart does not mean invisible. He turned. He towered over her at five-eleven, but his posture made him look taller. He crossed his arms. The sleeves of his suit jacket pulled tight across his shoulders. I am not here to lecture you, Lucien said. Then why did you come? He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He held it out. His fingers were long, manicured, clean. This came to the Golden Empress. Yu-Fei said it is for you. Rory didn't move. She stared at the paper, then at his hand. Her left hand, the one with the small crescent-shaped scar across the wrist, hovered near the doorframe. She took the paper. The envelope was thick. The paper inside rustled. What is it? Names. Dates. Locations. Rory scanned the page. Her heart rate didn't spike. She didn't. She just felt the weight of the paper in her grip. She folded it and put it in her pocket. Evan isn't the only one looking, Lucien said. He walked toward her. The air between them grew heavy. Rory could smell the rain on his coat. She wanted to step back. She wanted to step forward. She did neither. They know you are the one who took the evidence? They know you are the witness. The cat jumped off the sofa and walked under the table. Lucien looked down at the cat, then back at her. I can get you out. Rory laughed. The sound was dry. Out where? There are safe houses. I am not hiding in a house with a bed. I am working. I am delivering food. I am in the middle of the street. Lucien set his hand on the table, next to her elbow. The leather of his glove creaked. You are in danger. I am in London. I know. He stepped closer. The distance closed. He could see the fine hairs on her arm. She could see the flecks of black in his amber eye. The contrast in his gaze unnerved her. He wasn't human. The air around him felt static. You think I don't know? Rory said. She looked down at his hand on the table. I think you don't care. I care about the safety of the people I feed. Not the people I don't. The cane tapped the floor once. You are dangerous, Lucien said. His voice dropped an octave. I am a delivery person. You are the only person who walked out of Avaros alive. The room went cold. Rory swallowed. She stepped back, putting her back against the door again. The handle was cold against her spine. I am not talking about that. You are always talking about that. Lucien moved his hand. He reached out and touched her wrist. He touched the scar. His thumb brushed the pale skin over the bone. She flinched, but she didn't pull away. His touch was warm. He held her wrist for a second, then released her. I am not leaving you here alone. Who says you are leaving? He pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket. The police have been here. Who? Local constabulary. They asked about the packages. They didn't find anything. They found the name. Rory opened her mouth, but no words came out. She looked at the pile of books. They were ancient texts, scrolls wrapped in cloth. Eva is gone. Rory said. Eva is busy. She is in her study. The cat meowed again. Ptolemy sat on the back of the sofa, watching the two of them. I am not going to a safe house, Rory said. Then you go home. My home is the flat above the bar. Your home is a building that is not a fortress. Lucien leaned against the table. The books shifted. I am telling you because I can. I am not asking you to tell me. You asked when you opened the door. She didn't open the door. I opened it. Lucien smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. I did not ask you to let me in. Rory grabbed the paper from her pocket. She held it up. If you leave now, I will burn this. Lucien watched the paper. He didn't argue. You will not. I have matches in the kitchen. He stood up straight. He stepped away from the table. The tension in the room snapped like a rubber band. I am not your enemy, Lucien said. You are a fixer. You are my ally. I am your liability. She walked toward the kitchen door. Her hand hovered over the knob. I am the reason you are alive. I am the reason you are breathing. They stood apart in the middle of the room. The rain started to hit the window. The sound was loud, rhythmic. Go, Rory said. No. Go. She locked the deadbolt. The sound echoed through the room. Lucien didn't move. He looked at the door. He looked at her. He turned and walked to the door. He put his hand on the frame. I will wait outside. In the rain? I do not mind the rain. He opened the door. The sound of the street washed in. Sirens. Car tires on wet asphalt. Rory didn't lock it. She just held the door. She watched him step out. He didn't look back. He stood on the landing, looking down the stairs. She let the door swing shut. The deadbolt slid. She leaned against it. Her breathing was steady. Ptolemy walked over and rubbed against her leg. She scratched the cat behind the ears. She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. The street below was empty. Lucien stood in the shadow of the doorframe on the first landing. He watched the window. He didn't move. He just waited.