Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBG2RQQPE4NTD6FY0ZTCJ3A

The third deadbolt clicked into place with a heavy thud. Rory turned the handle and pulled the door inward. Lucien stood on the threshold, his silhouette framed by the dim hallway light of the building. He wore a tailored charcoal suit that cost more than Rory made in a month. The ivory handle of his cane rested against his shoulder, the wood polished to a mirror shine. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, wound between Rory’s ankles, purring loud enough to vibrate the floorboards. Lucien didn’t flinch. His gaze locked onto hers, the amber eye clashing with the black one, creating a disorienting effect that made her stomach drop. He stepped inside before she could close the door. The scent of expensive cologne and rain cut through the smell of old paper and curry that clung to the flat. "You left the deadbolts undone," Lucien said. His voice remained smooth, devoid of the accent he usually hid when working the London underworld. Rory leaned her hip against the doorframe. She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the small crescent scar on her left wrist. "I was in the middle of a delivery. I didn't think you'd come." "I didn't think you'd answer." He moved into the room, his cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. The sound echoed in the cramped space. Books and scrolls covered every surface, stacked precariously on the desk and the sofa. Lucien navigated the clutter with practiced ease, his movements fluid. He stopped near the window, looking out at the brickwork of the building across the alley. Rory pushed off the doorframe and walked toward the kitchen counter. She picked up a mug, checked for water, and set it down again. Her fingers trembled, just once. "What do you want, Luc?" He turned. The light from the streetlamp outside caught the platinum blond hair slicked back from his forehead. "Evan is dead." Rory froze. The mug slipped from her grip, shattering on the linoleum. Water pooled around the shards, soaking her socks. She didn't move to clean it up. "Dead?" "Found in a canal in Camden. No ID. Just a knife in his ribs." Lucien walked toward her, his eyes scanning her face for a reaction she refused to give. "I thought you should know. He was the one who chased you out of Cardiff." "I know who he was." Rory wiped her hand on her jeans. "Why are you telling me this?" "Because the knife had a mark on the hilt. A demon sigil." Lucien stopped inches from her. The heat radiating from his body was palpable. "My father's people. Avaros." Rory stepped back. Her shoulder hit the edge of the table. "You think I killed him?" "I think he found something he shouldn't have. Something that led back to you." Lucien reached out, his hand hovering near her arm. He didn't touch her. "You have a target on your back, Rory. I'm here to move you." "I'm not moving." "You're staying in a flat above a curry house with three deadbolts and a cat." Lucien gestured to Ptolemy, who was now batting at a stack of papers on the floor. "This isn't a fortress." "It's better than your safe houses." "Is it?" Lucien tilted his head. "We had a deal. You disappear, I handle the loose ends. You didn't disappear. You stayed." "I had to finish the research." Rory pointed to the scrolls scattered across the desk. "Evan wasn't the only one looking for that information." Lucien's expression tightened. The smooth facade cracked, revealing the sharp edge of the demon blood running through his veins. "You're digging too deep. You always do." "And you always clean up the mess." "I clean up because I have to." He took a step closer. The distance between them vanished. Rory could see the flecks of gold in the amber eye, the darkness in the other. "We were good at this, you and I. Before you ran." "I didn't run." "You walked away from the only person who could keep you alive." Lucien's voice dropped. "Don't lie to me." Rory looked down at his hand. The fingers were long, elegant, resting on the cane. She remembered those hands holding hers in the back of a taxi in Marseille. She remembered the heat of his skin, the promise of a future that never happened. "I walked away because you lied." "I lied to keep you breathing." "Same thing." Rory lifted her chin. "Tell me the truth, Luc. Is this about Evan? Or is this about you needing to know where I am?" Lucien's jaw worked. He gripped the cane tighter, the knuckles turning white. "Both. The Avaros are hunting. They know you're here." "Then let them come." "They won't come for you. They'll come for Eva." The name hung in the air. Rory's breath hitched. She looked past Lucien, toward the bedroom door where Eva's notes were stacked. "Stay away from her." "I can't promise that." Lucien leaned in, his face inches from hers. "But I can promise you safety. If you come with me." Rory stared at him. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the rain tapping against the window. She saw the desperation in his eyes, the fear he hid behind the tailored suit. He wasn't here to command her. He was here to beg. "I'm not going anywhere." Lucien exhaled, a sharp sound. He stepped back, the tension in his shoulders releasing. He adjusted his cufflinks, the silver catching the light. "You have twenty-four hours. Then I'm coming back. And next time, I won't ask." "Then you won't be welcome." Lucien smiled. It was a cold expression, devoid of warmth. "You know I don't care about welcome." He turned toward the door. Ptolemy yowled, arching his back as the man passed. Lucien didn't look at the cat. He reached for the handle. "Wait." Rory's voice stopped him. Lucien paused, his hand on the brass knob. He didn't turn around. "The knife." Rory walked toward him. She stopped behind him, close enough to feel the heat of his back. "Did you find the body?" "No." Lucien turned his head slightly. "I found the knife." "Where is it now?" "Safe." He opened the door. The hallway light spilled in, cutting across the floor. "Don't look for it, Rory. Some things are better left buried." "I'm not afraid of the dark." Lucien looked at her then, his heterochromatic eyes locking onto hers one last time. "You should be." He stepped out into the hallway. The door clicked shut, the three deadbolts sliding home into place. Rory stood alone in the kitchen, the smell of rain and cologne lingering in the air. She looked down at the shattered mug on the floor. The water had soaked into the grout, darkening the tiles. Ptolemy rubbed against her leg again, seeking comfort. Rory knelt and scratched the cat behind the ears. Her fingers brushed the scar on her wrist, the skin rough and raised. She stood up and walked to the desk, pulling a drawer open. Inside, a stack of photographs lay face down. She flipped them over. Evan's face stared back at her. The eyes were closed. She picked up a pen and wrote a note on a scrap of paper. She folded it and tucked it into her pocket. The rain intensified against the window, blurring the view of the street below. Rory moved to the window and pressed her hand against the glass. The cold seeped through her skin. She waited. The silence of the flat pressed against her ears. She listened for the sound of footsteps in the hallway, the click of a cane on the stairs. Nothing. Rory turned back to the room. The shadows stretched across the books, elongating the spines. She walked to the sofa and sat down. The cushions dipped under her weight. She picked up a scroll, unrolling it carefully. The ink was faded, the symbols shifting under the light. She traced the lines with her finger. The pattern matched the description of the knife Lucien mentioned. Avaros markings. A knock came at the door. Rory froze. She hadn't heard anyone come up the stairs. The knock was soft, polite. Three raps. She stood up. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She walked to the door and looked through the peephole. The hallway was empty. She turned the handle. The door swung open. No one stood there. Just the empty corridor and the flickering lightbulb above. Rory stepped out. She called out a name. Her voice echoed down the stairs. No answer. She walked back inside and locked the deadbolts. She checked the windows. They were secure. She returned to the sofa. The scroll lay open on her lap. The symbols seemed to move when she looked away. She closed her eyes and listened to the rain. A shadow moved in the corner of the room. Rory opened her eyes. The shadow was gone. She stood up and walked to the corner. Nothing but a stack of boxes. She returned to the sofa. The silence returned, heavy and thick. She picked up the pen again. She wrote another note. She folded it and put it in her pocket. The phone on the table rang. Rory stared at it. The vibration shook the surface of the wood. She let it ring. It stopped. She picked up the phone. The screen was blank. She set it down. The rain stopped. The silence was absolute. Rory sat in the dark, waiting for the morning.