Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBEM4G1P3Q43Q8NHH182VAN

The chain lock rattled. Three deadbolts slid back with a heavy metallic thud that echoed in the narrow hallway. Rory gripped the handle, her knuckles white against the dark wood. She didn't want to open it. She knew who stood on the other side. The smell of rain and expensive cologne seeped through the gap before the door swung wide. Lucien Moreau filled the frame. His charcoal suit absorbed the dim hallway light. The ivory handle of his cane gleamed under the streetlamp outside. He didn't smile. His eyes, one amber and one black, pinned her against the doorframe. You didn't answer your phone. Rory stepped back, letting him in. I was busy. Busy hiding. He stepped over the threshold. The floorboards groaned under his weight. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, arched his back from the armchair and hissed. Lucien ignored the animal. He closed the door behind him. The lock clicked. What do you want, Lucien? He turned. The room smelled of old paper and the curry house below. Scrolls covered the table. Books stacked high on the shelves. He walked past her, his cane tapping a rhythm on the wood. The job in Shoreditch went sideways. I heard. You heard wrong. He stopped by the window. The glass was fogged. He wiped a streak with his thumb. Outside, Brick Lane buzzed with neon and traffic. You left without a word, Rory. You know why. I know what you told yourself. He turned back to her. The scar on her left wrist burned. She tucked her hand into her pocket. The memory of the blade flashed in her mind. Not his blade. The one he drew to save her. The one he put away when she ran. I didn't run from you. You ran from the truth. He closed the distance between them. She held her ground. He smelled of rain and iron. His height forced her to tilt her chin up. The heterochromatic gaze didn't waver. I'm not your asset anymore. You never were. His voice dropped. The air in the room grew heavy. He reached out. His fingers hovered near her face. She didn't pull away. His hand dropped to his side. Eva is gone. What? She moved. Three days ago. Rory frowned. She told me she was staying here. She lied. Lucien turned back to the table. He picked up a scroll. His fingers traced the edge. She knew you were coming. She knew I would follow. Why? Because you are the only one who can read the cipher. He set the scroll down. The paper crinkled. I don't care about your ciphers. You care about the man who burned your flat. Rory stiffened. The fire in her memory flared. Evan. The smoke. The ash. That was six months ago. He is back. Lucien moved to the sofa. He sat. The leather creaked. He crossed his legs. The cane rested against his knee. Why tell me? Because he has your name. He looked at her. The amber eye caught the light. The black one remained dark. He wants to finish what he started. I can handle myself. You handled yourself by running to a curry house and hiding in a flat that doesn't belong to you. The words stung. She crossed her arms. The fabric of her jacket rubbed against her wrist. I'm not hiding. Then open the door. It's locked. For whom? For me. Lucien stood. He moved to her. He stopped inches away. She could feel the heat radiating from him. He wasn't human. She knew that. The demon blood ran cold in his veins. He found you. How? The tracker in your phone. She reached for her pocket. The phone was gone. She left it on the table. You tracked me? I protected you. By watching me sleep? By making sure you didn't die. She looked at the scar on her wrist. The crescent shape. A mark of the past. I don't need protection. You need a partner. He held out his hand. Palm up. The calluses on his fingers were rough. Take it. No. Take it. She looked at his hand. Then at his face. The tension pulled tight in her chest. She wanted to refuse. She wanted to slam the door. If I take it, I'm back in the game. You never left. He didn't blink. The silence stretched. Ptolemy jumped down from the chair. The cat walked between them. Lucien didn't look down. Eva left this for you. He reached into his jacket. He pulled out a key. Metal. Heavy. Where is she? Safe. And the key? To the safe house. Why give it to me now? Because he is at the door. Rory froze. She looked at the door. The chain lock rattled. Someone knocked. Heavy. Insistent. He is here. How do you know? I know. He stepped back. He drew the blade from his cane. The steel glinted. Stay behind me. I'm not staying. Rory. I said I'm not staying. She moved to the door. She looked through the peephole. A shadow blocked the light. A man in a grey coat. Evan. Open it. No. Open it. She turned the lock. The chain slid. The deadbolts clicked. She pulled the door open. The man stood there. His face was scarred. His eyes were cold. Hello, Rory. Lucien stepped up beside her. The blade was ready. You shouldn't have come. I never listen. He looked at Lucien. He smiled. And who is this? A problem. Evan laughed. The sound was dry. Two against one. Three. Rory looked at the cat. Ptolemy hissed from the hallway. Three. Evan said. He raised his hand. A gun glinted in his palm. Lucien moved. He thrust the cane forward. The blade flashed.