Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMF6BVQGAVSQ465YS17FMKH

Aurora opened the door to her flat, not expecting the tall, platinum-blond figure standing there in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. For a moment, she almost closed the door again, overwhelmed by the encounter. But then his heterochromatic eyes— one amber, one black—met hers, and she knew she couldn't run from this. "Lucien?" she said, disbelief lacing her voice. "What are you doing here?" He smiled, a charming but slightly predatory smile. "Aurora. It's been awhile." She stepped aside reluctantly, motioning for him to enter. As he did, she caught a whiff of his distinctive scent—leather, smoke, and some spicy note she couldn't quite place. It sparked memories, both good and bad. Ptolemy, her fluffy tabby cat, slinked over to investigate the newcomer. Lucien crouched down and held out a hand for the cat to sniff. Ptolemy obligingly rubbed against his legs, a traitorous purr rumbling in his chest. "I wasn't expecting company," Aurora said, eyeing Lucien's immaculate appearance. Her own black hair was a tangled mess, and she'd thrown on the first set of ratty sweats and t-shirt she could find when the doorbell rang. He straightened up, amber eye sparkling with amusement. "No harm in a little spontaneous visit, is there? Especially between old...friends." The way he emphasized the last word made her shoulders tense. They were nothing close to friends, hadn't been for years. Naming themselves was a mistake, gotten too close, and now... "Well, I'm not your friend," she snapped, crossing her arms. "I was expecting someone else. Not you." He shrugged. "I'm here now. Guess the gods had other plans." Aurora studied him for a long moment, trying to read the unreadable expression on his face. That same damned unreadable expression that used to drive her up the wall. Lucien took a step closer, invading her space, filling it. "You look...good, Rory. Very good." She swallowed, hating the way her name felt on his tongue. How it made her remember... "Don't call me that," she said sharply. "Only my true friends get to use that name, and you...you aren't one of those." "Fair enough." He raised his hands in surrender, but the predatory smile never left his face. "I find myself in a bit of a bind, Aurora. And you're the only one I thought I could turn to." She looked away, jaw tight. "I doubt that very much. Not based on what went down last time." Later that day, he followed through on his request, opening up about the state of being. The difficult situations he'd been in. As the night dimmed to a bloody red end, Lucien leaned in close, inches from her face. She could smell brandy on his breath, see the golden flecks in his amber eye. "I told you, you're my end game, Rory," he murmured, running a finger along her jaw. "You think I'm fooling around? With anyone else? Not a chance. It's only you for me. You and only you." Her heart stuttered in her chest. She wanted to believe him so badly. Wanted to melt into his touch, to give in to the painful history binding them together. But she couldn't forget. Couldn't move past the way he'd hurt her, had made her feel used and disposable. How she'd spent the past four years kicking herself for ever trusting a half-demon like him. Slowly, she turned her head away. "I think you should go, Mr. Moreau," she said quietly. Ptolemy meowed in agreement, almost as if he could sense the icy tension in the room. Lucien sighed, and when he spoke again, all traces of seduction were gone, his voice cold and flat and flat. "As you wish. But know this, Aurora," he replied, his voice was cold and emotionless. "We're not done. Not while Avaros still seethes in the abyss, not while the faerie queens' magic bleeds into the mortal realm. I'll see you again, one way or another. And next time, you won't be pushing me out your door. That's a promise."