Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HRP3WYNPK7P24QVDF2FK7

Aurora opened the door with a carton of cold noodles in one hand and found Lucien Moreau on the landing. Rain had darkened his charcoal suit to the colour of pavement. His platinum hair had come loose across his forehead. He held his ivory-handled cane under one arm and pressed his other hand against the doorframe, leaving a red print on the paint. “Before you shut it,” he began, “I need a basin.” Aurora looked at the blood on his fingers, then at his face. His amber eye met hers. The black one caught the light from the stairwell and gave nothing back. “Six weeks,” she told him. “That’s how long it’s been since you managed a complete sentence in my direction.” “I can manage another if you let me inside.” She set the noodles on the floor and stepped aside. Lucien crossed the threshold without brushing against her. She watched him do it. The flat above Silas’s bar left little room for avoidance: a sofa, a narrow kitchen, a table crowded with delivery receipts and two scrolls borrowed from Eva. Lucien stopped beside the sink as if the few feet between it and the door might exhaust him. Aurora turned on the tap. “What happened?” “A disagreement.” “With someone who brought a knife?” “With someone who kept one in his sleeve. I had it removed.” Blood ran from Lucien’s palm into the basin, turning the water pink. A cut crossed the base of his thumb and disappeared under his cuff. Aurora pulled the first-aid box from a cupboard and put it on the counter. “You have more blood on your sleeve than that cut could account for.” “Yes.” “Take off the jacket.” “Rory—” “Take it off, or I’ll put you back on the landing with the basin.” His mouth tightened. He set down his cane and eased the jacket from his shoulders. Dark blood soaked the side of his shirt. When Aurora reached for the hem, he caught her wrist, then released it at once. His fingers had landed against the small crescent scar there. “Sorry.” He braced his uninjured hand on the counter. “There’s something in the wound.” Aurora lifted the shirt. A narrow slice cut across his ribs. At its centre sat a sliver of black metal, no larger than a staple. The skin around it had begun to close. “What is it?” “I didn’t stop to ask.” “You came here instead of a hospital.” “A hospital would have taken the metal out and given it back to whoever came looking. I came to you because you’d ask what it was first.” “That’s a lot of faith to put in someone you walked out on.” Lucien looked at the sliver rather than at her. “Yes.” Downstairs, Silas hauled open a door. Music and the thud of voices climbed the stairwell, then vanished when it swung shut. Aurora took a pair of tweezers from the box and held the tips under the tap. “This will hurt.” “I know.” “I wasn’t asking you to be brave. Hold your shirt up.” Lucien obeyed. Aurora caught the metal with the tweezers. His breath stopped as she drew it free. The sliver dragged a bead of blood behind it and struck the bottom of the basin with a hard little click. “There.” She reached for gauze. “You can breathe.” He let the shirt fall into his hand but kept it clear of the cut. Aurora cleaned and dressed the wound while he gripped the edge of the counter. His control lasted until she taped the final corner; then his shoulders dropped. “What were you doing with the man in the sleeve?” Lucien glanced at his wet jacket. “In the inside pocket.” Aurora stared at him. “It’s for you. Please.” She put down the tape, searched the jacket and found a small velvet pouch. Inside lay a silver ring threaded onto a worn black cord. She knew the nick beside the setting. She had made it at fifteen, prising open a battery compartment with the ring because she couldn’t find a screwdriver. She closed her fist around it. “I found it in a drawer after you left,” she told him. “You’d taken it from my room.” “Yes.” “You asked me about Evan that night. You kissed me. Then I went to bed, and you took this.” “Yes.” Aurora pulled the cord free of the pouch. Her father had tied it for her before she left Cardiff; the knot remained clumsy and firm. “You can spare me the explanation if it ends with you doing what was best for me.” “It doesn’t.” “Good.” Lucien’s gaze followed the ring as she set it on the counter, well away from him. “A man came to me with Evan’s name and a photograph of you leaving the Golden Empress. He wanted your address. I gave him a false one.” Aurora’s stomach clenched. “And my ring?” “He knew enough to doubt me. I needed him to take something he could carry back to the person paying him.” “You had my ring in your hand, so he took that.” “I offered it.” She turned towards him. “You could have told me when you came back.” “I should have told you before I went.” “You spent the night at my place. You sat here eating the food I’d brought home. You knew someone had followed me from work.” “I knew someone had photographed you. I didn’t know if he’d followed you.” “That difference meant a lot to you, did it?” “It meant I could leave you one night of sleep.” Aurora gave a short laugh. “Evan used to decide what I could bear to hear. He had a reason for every lie, too.” Lucien’s face changed. He looked down at the blood-stained gauze and took his hand off the counter. “I know what I did,” he told her. “Do you? Because when I found the ring gone, I thought you’d taken it as some sort of payment. Then I thought you might have needed it. I spent six weeks coming up with reasons not to ask you.” “You sent a message.” “Three. You answered one. ‘I have matters to settle.’” She recited the words with the crisp precision they deserved. “I could have put that on a card and sold it to every woman in London who’d ever met you.” A flush reached his cheekbones. He picked up his cane, using it to steady himself. “The ring reached a broker in Whitechapel,” he told her. “I spent those weeks finding out where he’d put it and who had paid for the photograph. I have the name. It’s written on the paper in my jacket.” Aurora searched the pocket again. A folded receipt bore an address, a name and a sum of money in Lucien’s neat handwriting. “You waited until now to give me this.” “I meant to come when I had the ring. The broker refused to sell it back.” “So you took it.” “He should have accepted the money.” She looked at the bandage beneath his shirt. “You went there alone.” “I did.” “You still haven’t learned it.” Lucien leaned against the counter. “No. I saw that when I reached your door.” Aurora read the receipt a second time. The name meant nothing to her. She laid it beside the ring and pulled out a chair. “Sit before you fall against something else.” “I can leave.” “You’ve got blood on my floor. You can sit.” He sat. Aurora fetched a clean towel and dropped it on the table in front of him. From the corner of her eye, she saw him take hold of it but leave it folded. She picked up her phone. “I’m sending Eva the name. She’ll know how to check it.” Lucien nodded. He kept his eyes on the table while she took a photograph of the receipt and sent it. “When did you first hear about the photograph?” Aurora asked. “The afternoon I came here.” She checked the message had gone through. “Next time you hear someone’s after me, you tell me that afternoon. Even if you have no plan. Even if you think I’ll be frightened.” “All right.” “And you don’t take my things.” “No.” Aurora slid the ring back onto the cord. She held it for a moment, feeling the old knot against her thumb, then fastened it around her neck. Lucien watched her, one hand resting beside the untouched towel. “I’m sorry I left you to find out alone.” She pulled out the chair opposite his. It scraped against the floorboards. “Your shirt needs changing,” she told him. “Silas has one downstairs you can borrow.” “I’ll pay him for it.” “You can argue with Silas when you can stand without holding on to my sink.” She opened the noodle carton and pushed it across the table. “Eat. I’m going down.”