Run: 2026-09-23-01M37J0KG2YNRME01XPAB7K7S5

Rory opened Eva’s door with the chain still on and found Lucien Moreau standing in the narrow strip of hallway beyond it, rain shining on the shoulders of his charcoal suit. For a moment she forgot the question she’d meant to ask through the door. He looked exactly as he had the night she’d told him not to come after her: platinum hair slicked back, jaw set, ivory handle of his cane resting beneath one hand. The hall light caught his amber eye and left the other black. “You’re not Eva,” she said. “No.” His gaze moved over her face. “I was hoping you would be here.” That was worse than an accident. Rory kept one hand on the door. “How did you know?” “I went to your flat. Silas told me where you’d gone.” Of course he had. She’d come to Brick Lane to help Eva sort a stack of notes, not to hide, but she felt caught all the same. Behind her, Ptolemy wound around her ankles, pressing his striped head against the gap at the threshold. “Eva’s out,” Rory said. “I know. She said she was getting milk. She also said you were upstairs.” Rory looked past him. No Eva on the stairs, only the worn carpet and the smell of onions and hot oil rising from the curry house below. “You spoke to her?” “On the street. She let me in the building.” Eva had invited him up, then. Rory would have words with her later. Lucien’s grip tightened on the cane. “May I come in? I’d rather not do this in the hallway.” She didn’t want the neighbours hearing them. She wanted even less to be alone with him in Eva’s cramped flat, surrounded by Eva’s books and none of her good sense. Rory slid the chain free. Lucien waited while she turned the last deadbolt and opened the door wide enough for him to pass. He stepped inside, careful of Ptolemy, who sniffed one polished shoe and then sauntered away. Rory shut the door and worked the three locks. When she turned, Lucien was standing where she’d left him, a tall, damp intrusion among precarious towers of books. He had taken off his gloves and was holding them in one hand. “If this is about the packet,” she said, “I delivered it to the address you gave me.” “It isn’t.” “Then what?” His attention dropped to her left wrist, where her sleeve had slipped back. She tugged the fabric over the small crescent scar before she could stop herself. He had once traced it with his thumb while they sat in the back of a cab. She’d told him about falling through a greenhouse pane at nine; he’d listened as though the story mattered. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Yes.” “I heard someone followed you after your shift at the Golden Empress.” Rory folded her arms. “Two nights ago. I lost him outside Liverpool Street.” “Were you frightened?” “Annoyed, mostly.” She had been frightened. The man had stayed half a street behind her for six blocks, matching every turn. She’d gone into a crowded station rather than lead him home. “Is that why you’re here?” “No. I came because I behaved badly.” The flat seemed to go quieter. Downstairs, a pan struck a hob; Ptolemy jumped onto the windowsill and watched rain work its way down the glass. Rory leaned against the kitchen counter. “That covers quite a lot of ground.” Lucien accepted the blow with a small nod. “It does.” She had expected an excuse. He usually had one ready, elegantly phrased and delivered before anyone could pin him down. Three weeks ago, in the back room of Silas’s bar, he’d given her nothing at all. She had found out from another broker that Lucien had arranged for her to be watched. When she confronted him, he admitted it without apology. He said she was in danger. She said she would decide what risks to take. Then he told her to stay out of his affairs, and she told him to stay out of hers. She still remembered how long he’d stood there before leaving. She’d wanted him gone. She’d wanted him to cross the room. “You could have sent a message,” she said. “I thought you might delete it.” “I might have.” “Yes.” Lucien set his gloves on a clear corner of Eva’s table. His cane stayed in his hand. He glanced at the papers spread across the table, but didn’t touch them. “The man who followed you works for a broker named Voss. I found out this morning. Voss wants to know whether I’m still in contact with you.” “And are you?” “I’m standing in Eva’s flat.” “That’s not an answer.” His mouth pulled tight. “I haven’t been, because you asked me not to be. Voss doesn’t know that. He saw us together often enough to think you might have information.” “Then you came to warn me.” Rory looked at the locked door. “You could’ve led him straight here.” “I checked the street. I would not have come up if anyone had followed me.” She believed he’d checked. That didn’t settle everything else. “Tell Eva what Voss looks like when she gets back. I’ll watch my back.” “Rory.” The sound of her name made her look at him. He rarely used it; at the bar, he’d called her Carter in front of others, Aurora when they were alone. Rory was for her friends, and he’d once asked which she preferred. She hadn’t known what to tell him. “I’m warning you,” he said, “but I came for another reason. I owe you an apology. I sent someone to follow you without asking. When you found out, I spoke to you as though you were a problem I had to manage. You weren’t. I’m sorry.” She pressed her fingers against the counter’s chipped edge. It was a better apology than she’d expected, and it hurt to hear it. “Why did you send him?” “Someone took an interest in your deliveries. I didn’t know who. I thought I could find out before I told you, and keep you safe in the meantime.” “You could have asked whether I’d noticed anything.” “I should have.” “You could have trusted me.” “Yes.” He looked directly at her. “I should have done that too.” Rain pattered harder against the window. Ptolemy turned from it and jumped onto the table, landing on an open notebook. Lucien reached to lift him, then looked at Rory first. “He bites,” she said. “I remember.” Lucien withdrew his hand. Ptolemy regarded him with satisfaction and sat down on the notes. Rory crossed the room to rescue Eva’s notebook. Ptolemy complained as she moved him to a chair. Lucien stepped aside to give her space; the flat was too small for much of it, and she came close enough to smell rain on his coat and the familiar trace of cedar beneath it. “When I told you to stay away,” she said, straightening the bent page, “I meant it.” “I know.” “But I spent the next week checking to see if you’d called.” His eyes lifted to hers. Rory wished she hadn’t said it, then was glad she had. She laid the notebook flat. “I thought you might,” he said. “I picked up my phone more than once.” “Why didn’t you use it?” “You’d asked me not to.” She couldn’t fault him for that. It had been her decision, made while she was angry and tired, but she’d made it. She sat on the edge of the table, leaving a careful inch between herself and a stack of scrolls. “What you said that night,” she said. “About my being better off if you kept your distance. Did you mean it?” Lucien stared at the floor for a moment. “I thought I did. People who know me are sometimes used against me. You’d already drawn notice.” “That wasn’t what you said when I asked you to leave.” “No. I wanted to make it easy for you to let me go.” He gave a humourless breath. “I chose a cruel way to do it.” “You did.” She watched him take it in. “I was trying to tell you I cared about you, Lucien. You made me feel foolish for it.” His face changed. He took one step toward her, then stopped. “I heard you. I was afraid of how much I wanted you to say it.” Rory gripped the table edge. There it was, what she’d tried to draw out of him in the bar while he kept looking past her shoulder. She had spent three weeks telling herself she could live without hearing it. Now that he’d said it, she needed a moment. From the street came the low rush of tyres through standing water. Eva would be back soon with the milk. Rory ought to use the time to ask about Voss, to make a plan. Instead she looked at Lucien’s bare hands. His fingers were pale where they circled the cane, steadier than hers felt. “I don’t want someone deciding what’s safe for me,” she said. “I won’t do that again.” “You don’t get to promise me nothing will happen, either.” “I can’t.” He rested the cane against the table. “I can tell you what I know. We can decide what to do with it.” “We?” “If you want my help.” Rory considered him. He had brought her the name of the man who had followed her, and he’d come to apologise. Neither erased what he’d done. She was still angry when she thought of a stranger reporting her movements to him. She could also see the rain drying unevenly on his lapels and knew how far he must have walked after speaking to Eva, waiting while Rory dealt with the locks. “I do,” she said. “I want to know what Voss is after.” “All right.” “And I want you to stay for tea. Eva will want to hear this too.” Lucien’s expression softened, cautiously. “I’d like that.” Rory stepped toward him. She saw him notice and hold still. He’d listened to her at last; it seemed fair to make her next choice plain. She reached for his hand. His fingers closed around hers, warm despite the rain. The touch brought back the cab, his thumb on her wrist, the easy conversation before either of them had admitted what was happening. She had missed that. She had missed him. Lucien looked down at their joined hands, then up at her, leaving her room to change her mind. “I’m still cross with you,” she said. “I know.” She rose onto her toes and kissed him. He leaned in slowly, one hand settling at her waist. The kiss was gentle at first. When she drew closer, he answered her, and for a few breaths she let herself feel only that he was here and holding her because she wanted him to. Ptolemy gave a loud, offended meow. Rory broke away, laughing against Lucien’s cheek. On the stairs outside, a key scraped against the building door. “Eva,” she said. Lucien glanced at the locked front door. “How long does it take to open all three?” “Long enough for you to put the kettle on.” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles before releasing her. “And after tea?” Rory went to unbolt the door. “Ask me after we’ve talked to her.” She heard him set the kettle beneath the tap. She was smiling when she opened the first lock.