Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HHJEK8K3BJ3E914X77SBR

The door opened as far as its chain allowed. Lucien Moreau stood on the landing in a charcoal suit damp at the shoulders, his platinum hair darkened by rain. He held a paper bag in one hand and his ivory-handled cane in the other. Rory kept her fingers on the edge of the door. “You found Eva’s place.” “I knew which building. The smell of cumin handled the rest.” “It’s a curry house.” “Then my detective work remains flawless.” Behind Rory, Ptolemy leapt onto a stack of books and sent three loose pages across the floor. Lucien glanced past her, but made no move towards the gap. “I didn’t know you were here tonight,” he told her. “I came to leave this for Eva.” He raised the bag. A corner of dark blue leather showed above its folded rim: Eva’s notebook, the one Rory had spent two days looking for. She had last seen it under Lucien’s arm. “You could have posted it.” “Eva advised against putting it through her letterbox. She mentioned an incident with ink and a territorial cat.” Ptolemy hooked a page beneath one paw. Rory watched Lucien’s fingers tighten around the bag. A week ago, those fingers had closed around her hand outside the Golden Empress. He had kissed her there, in the rain, with her delivery bag slipping off her shoulder. By the following morning, Yu-Fei had crossed Rory’s name off the rota. Lucien had asked for it. He had told Yu-Fei she wanted a week away from work. Rory slid the chain free and opened the door. She took the bag. Lucien stayed where he was. “Eva’s at the library,” she told him. “I’ll give it to her.” “That saves me another trip.” “It does.” She should have shut the door. Instead, she reached into the bag and drew out the notebook. A square of paper was tucked inside its cover, addressed to her in Lucien’s narrow handwriting. “I didn’t come here to hide a note in her books,” he told her. “I put it in after you opened the door. I thought you might not want to talk.” Rory pulled out the paper. It contained a name, an address in Clerkenwell, and a telephone number. “Who’s this?” “Someone who can tell you what happened on your delivery route. His name is Harrow. He works for my father.” The curry house extractor hummed beneath their feet. Rory folded the note once, pressing her thumbnail into the crease. “You told me there was trouble on my route. You didn’t tell me who sent it.” “No.” “You went to Yu-Fei first.” “Yes.” “And now you’ve come to give me a stranger’s address.” She held up the paper. “What am I meant to do with this?” “Whatever you choose. Harrow agreed to answer your questions. If you want him to come here, I can arrange it. If you want nothing to do with him, I won’t ask again.” Rory looked at his face. His amber eye caught the light from Eva’s hall; the black one gave nothing back. For six days she had rehearsed what she would say if she saw him, but all her neat sentences had started with him standing close enough to interrupt. “Why didn’t you tell me on Tuesday?” “Because I thought you’d insist on taking your shift.” “I would have.” “I know.” “And you decided that settled it.” Lucien rested the tip of his cane against the floor. “I made the wrong decision.” “Yu-Fei thought I’d asked you to speak for me. She spent ten minutes telling me I could have come to her myself.” Rory pushed a fallen page back into the flat with her foot. “I had to stand there while she wondered what else I’d let you arrange.” “I went back to her. I told her I lied.” “You did?” “This afternoon. Your shifts are yours if you want them. She also had a few things to tell me about men who interfere with her staff.” Rory could hear Yu-Fei delivering every word. She glanced at Lucien’s mouth and found a small split in his lower lip. “Did she do that?” “No. A man at the Clerkenwell address took exception to my questions.” Rory gripped the door. “Is Harrow going to be safe for me to meet?” “He gave his word. You shouldn’t have to rely on that alone, so I wrote down the name of the woman who witnessed it.” She unfolded the paper. Below the telephone number, in smaller writing, stood another name and a number. Lucien let her read it without speaking. “I don’t know either of them,” she told him. “No. You can ask Eva about the witness. She knows her.” Ptolemy abandoned the pages and pressed against Rory’s ankle. She bent to pick him up, grateful for a reason to look away. The cat settled in her arms, all warm fur and pointed elbows. “I found out about the rota after you kissed me,” she told Lucien. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. “I know.” “Did you think I’d be easier to persuade?” “No.” His hand moved on the cane. “I wanted to kiss you. I’d wanted to for months. I went to Yu-Fei that morning, before I saw you outside the restaurant.” Rory’s throat tightened. “You knew I’d find out.” “I knew I had to tell you. Then you came around the corner, and I let myself have something I wanted before I did.” The words landed harder than a polished excuse would have. Ptolemy dug a claw into her jumper. Rory eased it loose. “When you left,” she told him, “you said the kiss had been a mistake.” “I thought calling it that would help you send me away.” “You could have let me decide that too.” “I should have.” Rainwater dripped from the hem of his coat onto Eva’s landing. He looked tired beneath the careful line of his hair, though he stood straight and kept his voice level. Rory remembered how often she had mistaken that composure for certainty. She had liked leaning against it until he had used it to move her out of her own life. “You don’t get to do that again,” she told him. “Not with my work. Not with anything else.” “I won’t.” “If you learn my route has become dangerous, you tell me before you tell my boss.” “Yes.” “If you think I’m about to make a bad choice, you can say so. I’ll hear you.” Lucien’s hand loosened on the cane. “All right.” “You’ll hate that part.” “I expect I will.” Rory looked down at the note. Harrow’s address ran across the fold she had made. She would speak to Eva before she called either number. Tomorrow, she would go to the Golden Empress and check the rota with Yu-Fei herself. Lucien shifted his weight towards the stairs. “I’ve kept you at the door long enough,” he told her. “You haven’t asked to come in.” “I wasn’t going to.” “Good.” Rory stepped back, leaving room beside the bookcase. “Take your shoes off. Eva has a scroll on the floor, and I don’t know what the ink does.” Lucien looked at the narrow space she had made. “Rory.” “It’s tea, Lucien. You can drink it while I ask questions.” “And after?” “I haven’t decided.” He set down his cane and bent to untie his shoes. Rory carried Ptolemy through to the kitchen, where a clean mug sat beside Eva’s overflowing dish rack. She put the kettle on. Lucien came in holding the blue notebook, which she had left on the hall table, and stopped at the sight of Eva’s notes spread across every chair. “There’s nowhere to sit,” he observed. “You can clear that one. Don’t mix the pages.” He put the notebook down and lifted a sheaf with both hands. Rory watched him find a safe place for it. When he turned back, she caught his wrist before he could reach for the next pile. “Let me see your lip.” “It’s a scratch.” “I can see that.” He held still while she tilted his face towards the light. The cut was shallow. His breath touched her thumb when she let it rest beside his mouth. “I’m still angry,” she told him. “I know.” “I wanted to kiss you on Tuesday. I wanted to after.” Lucien’s eyes searched hers. “And now?” The kettle clicked off. Rory released his chin but kept hold of his wrist. “Now I want you to answer the rest of my questions.” “I will.” She drew him closer and kissed him. He waited until she tightened her hand around his wrist before he put his free hand against her waist. Ptolemy jumped onto the table behind them, scattering Eva’s pencils. Rory broke away and caught one before it rolled off the edge. Lucien looked at the pencil in her hand. “Was that one of the questions?” “No.” She set it beside the notebook and reached for the kettle. “Start with Harrow. What did your father ask him to do?”