Run: 2026-05-10-01KR8XHND9GDKXCMEBGQ3BPX3Q

The deadbolt clicked back, and the door swung inward. A gust of damp London air pushed into the hallway, carrying the scent of ozone and expensive tobacco. Lucien stood in the corridor. He wore a charcoal suit tailored to a razor’s edge, the fabric repelling the drizzle that clung to his platinum blond hair. He leaned on his ivory-handled cane, his weight shifted to one side, one amber eye and one black eye locked on Rory. Rory gripped the edge of the door. Her knuckles turned white against the painted wood. "The lock is new." "Three deadbolts now. I figured one wasn't enough to keep out the ghosts." Lucien didn't wait for an invitation. He stepped forward, forcing her to retreat into the narrow entryway of the flat. He moved with a predatory grace, the tip of his cane tapping a rhythmic, metallic beat against the floorboards. Rory closed the door. The sound echoed through the small space. She leaned her back against the wood, crossing her arms over her chest. "You don't just show up here, Luc. We had an agreement." "Agreements change when the variables shift." He paused in the center of the room. His gaze swept over the flat, lingering on the stacks of takeout menus and the stray delivery bags tossed in the corner. He looked back at her, a faint, sharp smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're still delivering for Cheung. I expected the law degree by now." "The law is for people who believe the system works. I prefer the Golden Empress." Lucien chuckled, a low vibration that stirred the air between them. He shifted his cane, the ivory handle catching the dim light of the overhead bulb. He stepped closer, invading her personal space until the scent of sandalwood and rain overwhelmed the smell of old grease from her clothes. "You look tired, Rory." "And you look like you just stepped off a runway in Paris. Still playing the part of the impeccable fixer?" He reached out, his fingers hovering inches from her jaw. He didn't touch her, but the heat radiating from his skin made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. "I play the parts that get results." Rory stepped sideways, breaking the spell. She walked toward the small kitchenette, her movements jagged. She grabbed a glass from the counter and filled it with tap water, her hand trembling slightly. She caught a glimpse of the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. It looked stark against her pale skin. "Why are you here?" Lucien followed her, his footsteps silent on the rug. He stopped at the edge of the counter, his presence shrinking the room. "I heard about Evan." Rory froze. The glass clinked against the granite. "He's gone. That's all you need to know." "I didn't say he was still a threat. I said I heard about him." He leaned in, his voice dropping an octave. The heterochromatic eyes searched hers, stripping away the defenses she had spent months building. "I spent three months wondering if you were safe. I spent three months staring at a phone that never rang." "You chose your side, Lucien. The underworld doesn't have room for human attachments. You told me that the night you walked out." Lucien’s expression hardened. He gripped the handle of his cane with enough force to make the wood groan. "I did what was necessary to keep the Avaros entities from tracking you. You were a liability to them. You're still a liability to them." "I'm a delivery girl in a flat above a bar. I'm invisible." "You are never invisible to me." He moved then, a sudden blur of motion. He closed the distance and pinned her against the counter. He didn't use force, but his body formed a wall, trapping her between the cold stone and the heat of his chest. His breath brushed against her temple. Rory didn't pull away. She tilted her head back, looking up at him. The anger in her chest warred with a hunger that made her stomach twist. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to leave me in the dark and then walk back in and claim you were protecting me." "I never claimed to be a saint, Rory." "You're a liar." "I lied about the danger. I didn't lie about how much I hated every second of the silence." Lucien’s hand finally made contact. He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, his skin rough and warm. He slid his hand down to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her black hair, pulling her head back just enough to expose the pulse thrumming in her throat. Rory gasped, her hands finding the lapels of his charcoal suit. She gripped the fabric, pulling him closer until there was no air left between them. "I hated you." "I know." "I still hate you." "Tell me again." He pressed his forehead against hers. The amber eye glowed with a faint, unnatural light. Rory's grip tightened on his suit. She shifted, her leg sliding between his, the friction of their clothes a sharp contrast to the sudden stillness of the room. The sounds of the bar downstairs—the muffled bass of a song, the distant shout of a patron—faded into a blur. "You're a coward, Lucien Moreau." "Perhaps. But I'm a coward who came back." He shifted his weight, the ivory cane clattering to the floor. The sound was a gunshot in the quiet flat. He didn't look down. His focus remained locked on her lips. Rory reached up, her fingers digging into the platinum blond hair at the back of his head. She yanked him down. Their lips met with a collision that tasted of desperation and old grudges. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a battle, a frantic exchange of everything they hadn't said in the months of silence. Lucien groaned into her mouth, his arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her onto the counter. Rory wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of her thighs. She could feel the hard line of his body, the tension in his muscles, the way he shuddered against her. He pulled back for a second, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide. "I should have come for you sooner." "Shut up." "I thought about you every single night." "I said shut up." Rory grabbed the back of his neck and dragged him back down. She bit his lower lip, drawing a sharp hiss of breath from him. Lucien responded by sliding his hand under her shirt, his palm hot against the small of her back. He pressed her flat against the granite, his weight crushing her into the surface. The coldness of the stone seeped through her clothes, but she only felt the fire of him. Lucien moved his kiss to the sensitive skin below her ear, his teeth grazing her collarbone. "You still smell like vanilla and rain." Rory arched her back, her fingers scratching against the fabric of his shoulders. "You still talk too much." He let out a low, guttural laugh and shifted his hand, his fingers finding the crescent scar on her wrist. He didn't move away. He pressed a lingering, soft kiss to the mark, his lips warm against the old skin. Rory froze. The aggression vanished, replaced by a sudden, stabbing ache in her chest. She looked down at him, her blue eyes shimmering. Lucien looked up, the intensity in his gaze enough to burn. "I'm not leaving this time."