Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMG8Q0R1Z5QNXBX0GK8NX4

The green neon sign of The Raven's Nest cast an eerie glow through the evening fog, transforming ordinary passersby into ghostly silhouettes. Aurora wiped down the bar counter, having picked up an extra shift to cover for Silas while he nursed his bad knee upstairs. The old spymaster had been moving slower lately, though he'd never admit it. She was polishing the same spot for the third time when the door creaked open, bringing with it a gust of cold air and the sound of traffic from Dean Street. The entering patron's footsteps faltered, and Aurora looked up to find herself staring into a face she hadn't seen in seven years. "Rory?" The woman's voice was thinner than she remembered, but unmistakable. "Rory Carter?" "Claire." The name felt foreign on her tongue, like a word from a language she'd forgotten how to speak. "I didn't know you were in London." Claire Morton had been her best friend throughout secondary school, before university and life had pulled them in different directions. The Claire in Aurora's memories wore combat boots and band t-shirts, had wild purple hair, and dreamed of becoming a war photographer. This Claire wore a crisp charcoal pantsuit and pearls, her honey-blonde hair swept into an elegant chignon. "I moved back six months ago," Claire said, sliding onto a barstool. Her manicured fingers drummed against the polished wood. "Took a position with Lloyd's. Banking, if you can believe it." Aurora's hand instinctively went to the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a nervous habit she'd developed over the years. "I wouldn't have believed it, no." "God, look at you," Claire said, her eyes taking in Aurora's black hair, so different from the auburn she'd worn in school. "You haven't aged a day. Still beautiful as ever." "You look..." Aurora searched for the right word, "successful." A laugh bubbled up from Claire, sharp and brittle. "That's diplomatic. I look corporate. Sold out. Everything we used to hate." Aurora poured two fingers of whiskey without being asked, sliding it across the counter. It was the same drink Claire had always ordered when they used to sneak into pubs using fake IDs. "On the house." "You remember." "Hard to forget all those nights holding your hair back." Claire lifted the glass, studying the amber liquid. The old maps on the walls cast strange shadows across her face, making her look older, more tired. "Do you ever think about that summer after A-levels? The trip we planned?" "Backpacking across Southeast Asia." Aurora's throat tightened. "We were going to document everything. Your photos, my words." "Were we ever really that young?" The question hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of abandoned dreams. Through the windows, the fog had grown thicker, turning the world outside into a smudged watercolor. "I saw your byline," Claire said suddenly. "In The Guardian, about three years ago. A piece about domestic violence survivors. It was... powerful." Aurora's hands stilled on the glass she was cleaning. She thought of Evan, of running to London, of the way Silas had taken her in without questions when Eva had brought her to his door. "I had to write it." "I should have been there." Claire's voice cracked. "When it all happened. I saw the posts, the hints on social media, but I was in Frankfurt, climbing the corporate ladder, and I just..." She took a long swallow of whiskey. "I convinced myself you had other people. Better friends." From upstairs came the familiar sound of Silas' uneven footsteps, his bad knee probably protesting the damp weather. The steady thump-pause rhythm seemed to mark the passing seconds as Aurora struggled to find words. "We all made choices," she said finally. "You chose Frankfurt. I chose law school to please my dad. Then I chose to run away from it all." "And now you're tending bar?" "Among other things." Aurora didn't mention the delivery job, or the novel taking shape on her laptop, or the way Silas was teaching her about his network of contacts, preparing her for something she wasn't sure she was ready for. "I'm finding my way back to who I wanted to be." Claire's fingers traced the rim of her glass. "I don't even know who that is anymore. The girl who wanted to chase wars with a camera... sometimes I think I dreamed her." "She's still in there." Aurora reached across the bar, her fingers brushing Claire's wrist. "Under the pearls." A tear slid down Claire's cheek, leaving a dark spot on her silk blouse. "I'm getting divorced," she whispered. "Thomas... he's everything we used to mock. Wealthy, conservative, boring. I woke up one morning and couldn't recognize myself in the mirror." Aurora thought of the photographs still stored in her phone: Claire at eighteen, fierce and fearless, middle finger raised to the world. "You can always start over. Trust me on that." "Is that what you did?" "I'm doing it now." Aurora gestured to the bar around them, to the mysterious maps and photographs that Silas had collected over his years in intelligence work. "It's not what I planned, but it's becoming something real." Claire finished her whiskey and stood, smoothing her tailored skirt. "I should go. I have an early meeting." She pulled out a business card, then hesitated. Instead of leaving it on the bar, she turned it over and wrote a number on the back. "My personal mobile. Not the corporate one." "I'll use it this time," Aurora said, understanding the weight of the promise. "Really." At the door, Claire paused, her silhouette merging with the green glow of the neon sign. "We were good friends once, weren't we? Before we got lost?" "The best," Aurora said softly. "And maybe we can be again." The door closed with a gentle click, leaving Aurora alone with the ghosts of who they used to be, and the fragile hope of who they might become.