Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8FJ01NZQSTCW2851QDV6S

Aurora opened the door of Eva’s flat expecting to see her friend, not Lucien Moreau. He was leaning against the frame, the ever-predictable smirk on his lips as he adjusted the ivory handle of the cane at his side. The air shifted when he moved into the space. It always did. “I wasn’t invited,” he said, stepping past her before it could be made clear that he wasn’t. She shut the door quickly behind him, though she knew it was futile. He’d already taken up most of the cramped entrance hall. His tailored charcoal suit looked out of place amid the chaos of research and notes. Stacks of parchment teetered over books, but Lucien paid no mind. “You’re not in London for some noble cause,” she said. “No.” He turned to face her fully. “I’m in London because you disappeared.” “That wasn’t your problem.” His amber eye gleamed. “It became everyone’s problem.” Ptolemy meowed from the top of a desk, leaping down with claws unsheathed. It circled them like prey being stalked. Aurora folded her arms. “You know why I left.” “Do I?” She didn’t answer. There had been no parting gift of truth, only silence in the end. And now this man stood here again, back among the living after she’d sworn never to let someone like him into her life again. She wasn't even sure how long it had been since they'd last talked. Maybe six months? Longer? Lucien stepped closer, his presence pressing against her. He smelled of sandalwood and something darker—like smoke off stone. “I read your file,” he said quietly. “The one Silas shared.” Her breath caught a beat too late. “What about it?” “Your ex, Evan. That’s what all of this is really about, isn’t it?” Aurora wanted to turn away, to move to sit or to leave entirely, but she stayed rooted. “Evan isn't your concern.” “He tried to burn down an apartment building in Manchester.” His voice was low, almost reverent. “He’s connected to people I deal with. People I don’t trust anymore.” She took a sharp step back. "That's ridiculous." “It’s not.” Now he moved slowly, deliberately, closing the distance between them until her back hit a bookshelf. It creaked under her weight. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. “Not again.” He tilted his head slightly, the black eye meeting hers without flinching. “I haven’t done anything.” “You showed up. That’s something.” “You vanished from my world just like he did. And now I’m here. So maybe you should be worried about what comes next.” She swallowed hard. “What do you want from me?” He hesitated, then extended the hand with the cane. The blade was hidden still, the handle smooth and cold beneath his fingertips. But Lucien held it out like an offering. Not as a weapon, not this time. “We need to talk,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “You and me. Properly this time.” The flat felt smaller suddenly, the walls closing in. Outside, Brick Lane bustled on, unaware and unbothered by the tension coiled in the room. Aurora reached out and grasped the cane. It was heavier than she expected, solid and precise. She thought about the first time she’d seen it—how it had felt wrong in its use, like violence wrapped in velvet. Yet now, she held it like an anchor. “You’ve changed,” she murmured. “So have you.” She released the cane. He dropped it. “Then talk to me.” “I can’t promise anything.” “You don’t owe me promises.” Her thumb brushed over her wrist scar absently. “He hurt me, Lucien. Not just physically.” “I know.” “You weren’t there.” “But I would’ve been.” Their eyes locked. Nothing was said aloud, only the truth of their history hanging between them. Every word unspoken, every glance unread. All the things she’d left behind—every choice, every betrayal, every silent departure—felt like dust stirred anew by his presence. “What happens now?” she asked softly. Lucien took another cautious step. “We find out who else is pulling the strings. You and me.” She nodded, the decision made before words could finish the thought. Outside, the rain began to fall.