Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE92K72S46D6Q95VHBAHVMK

The knock came twice, spaced out like the person on the other side wasn't sure they wanted an answer. Rory unlatched the chain, pulled the door open, and there he was — Lucien, one hand braced against the frame, the ivory cane hanging loose from his fingers like he'd forgotten it was there. "You look surprised," he said. "I did knock." "You never knock. You just appear, like some sort of curse." "I've been informed my manners have improved." He glanced past her shoulder into the flat, the low lamp light catching the amber in his right eye and swallowing the black of his left. "May I come in, or are we doing this in the hallway where your neighbours can enjoy it?" She didn't move for a second. Long enough that he noticed, his mouth twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It's been four months, Lucien." "Three months, two weeks." He tilted his head. "I count." "You count." Rory stepped back, more out of habit than invitation, and he took it as one anyway, brushing past her with that particular grace he had, like the floor owed him something. She shut the door harder than necessary. "Funny, for someone who left without a word." "I left a note." "You left an address for a dead drop and a line about 'complications.' That's not a note, that's a resignation letter." Lucien set the cane against the sofa arm and looked around the flat like he was cataloguing what had changed, what hadn't. The chipped mug on the counter. The coat still hung on the same hook. He didn't sit. "The complications were real," he said. "I'm sure they were." She crossed her arms. "Everything's real with you. That's what makes it so hard to tell when you're lying." "I don't lie to you." "You just leave out the truth until it stops mattering." He winced at that, actually winced, and for a moment the polish slipped, the fixer's mask cracking just enough to show something underneath — tired, maybe. Older than thirty-two. "Fair," he said. "That's fair." Rory hadn't expected him to concede so easily. It threw her off her rhythm, and she hated that it did, hated that four months hadn't dulled the way her pulse ticked up when he stood this close, smelling like rain and expensive tobacco. "Why are you here, Lucien? And it better not be information you're selling, because I'm not buying tonight." "I'm not selling anything." He reached into his jacket, and she tensed, old instinct, before he pulled out nothing more dangerous than a folded piece of paper. "I came to give you this." She didn't take it immediately. "What is it?" "An address. In Southwark. Someone's been asking about a woman matching your description — dark hair, blue eyes, works deliveries for a Chinese restaurant near Limehouse." He held the paper steady. "I thought you'd want to know before they found you instead of me finding them first." Rory took the paper, unfolded it, read the scrawled address twice like the words might rearrange themselves into something less unsettling. "Who's asking?" "I don't know yet. That's why I'm still looking." He watched her fold the paper back up, tuck it into her cardigan pocket. "I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important, Rory. You know that." "Do I?" She looked up at him. "Because the last time you said something was important, you disappeared for three and a half months." "Three months, two weeks." "Don't correct me right now." He raised both hands, a small surrender, and the movement pulled his sleeve back just enough that she caught sight of a fresh scar along his forearm, thin and precise, the kind a blade left behind. She didn't ask. She wanted to. She didn't. "I missed this flat," he said instead, looking anywhere but at her. "The mug that doesn't match the kettle. The smell of ginger and soy sauce that never quite airs out." A pause. "I missed you. If that's a complication you want to hear about." "Don't." Her voice came out sharper than she meant it, though it didn't stop the heat crawling up her neck. "You don't get to say that and then vanish again in a week." "I'm not vanishing." "You always say that." "I know." He finally looked at her properly, both eyes steady, mismatched and unflinching. "I know what I've done. I'm not asking you to forget it. I'm asking you to be careful, because whoever's looking for you isn't being subtle, and subtlety is usually the only thing standing between people like