Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQXBC307F733VKN21JC8VV

The clatter of glasses and the low hum of conversation did little to penetrate the fog in Aurora’s mind. She nursed a cider, the condensation cool against her fingers. The Raven’s Nest was her sanctuary, Silas’s bar her quiet oasis in the relentless thrum of London. Tonight, though, the familiar scent of stale beer and old tobacco felt suffocating. Outside, the Soho streets pulsed with a life she felt increasingly detached from. She’d been meaning to call Silas, meant to ask about that *thing* he’d mentioned last week, something about a ‘retrieval’. But the words never quite coalesced into a coherent thought. A shadow fell over her table, abrupt and unwelcome. Aurora traced the outline of a worn leather boot, then slowly, reluctantly, her gaze traveled upwards. “Rory?” The name, spoken in a voice both familiar and startlingly altered, snagged in her throat. She looked up, her breath catching. Liam. Liam O’Connell. He stood there, a ghost from another life, a life she’d carefully packed away like ill-fitting clothes. His hair, once a riot of sandy curls, was now neatly trimmed, a few threads of grey at the temples only served to emphasize the sharp planes of his face. He wore a tailored coat, the kind that whispered expense, a far cry from the frayed band t-shirts of their youth. But it was his eyes, the same startling shade of green she remembered, that truly arrested her. They held a new depth, a steely glint that hadn’t been there before. “Liam,” she managed, her voice thin. “Wow.” He offered a hesitant smile, a flicker of the old Liam beneath the polished exterior. “Wow is about right. I… I didn’t expect to see you here. Or anywhere, really. Last I heard, you were chasing the legal dream in Cardiff.” Aurora winced internally. The legal dream. Such a quaint notion now. She forced a smile. “Things change. Life, you know.” “Tell me about it.” He gestured to the empty chair opposite her. “Mind if I…?” She shook her head, her own surprise warring with a burgeoning unease. He sat, his movements precise, economical. He signaled the bartender, a stocky man with a knowing smile she recognized as the owner, Silas. “Usual, Silas,” Liam said, his voice clear and resonant. Silas nodded, already moving. Aurora watched Liam, a hundred questions bubbling to the surface, each one more daunting than the last. He looked successful. Genuinely successful. Not just the feigned confidence of their university days, but something earned. Solid. “So,” Liam prompted, his gaze steady. “You’re in London. Still delivering for that Chinese place?” The question was delivered neutrally, but it landed like a blow. Rory. That name was laced with remnants of their shared past, a past where she was still the aspiring solicitor, the daughter of her father’s expectations. She’d shed that skin, but the memory of it clung. “No,” she said, her voice firmer now. “I left that. I’m… I’m working for Silas now. Helping out.” Liam’s eyebrows lifted fractionally. “Really? Didn’t peg you for a barfly, Rory.” An old nickname, carelessly deployed. It stung more than she expected. “It’s not just a bar, Liam. Silas… he’s got a lot going on.” She gestured vaguely around the dimly lit room, the walls adorned with antique maps and faded photographs. “It’s more than it looks.” He followed her gaze, a thoughtful expression settling on his face. “I always thought Silas looked like a man with secrets. The way he holds himself, the quiet authority.” He turned his attention back to her, his green eyes sharp. “And you, Rory? Are you good at keeping secrets?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Aurora felt a prickle of defensiveness. She was good at keeping secrets now. Very good. It was a skill she’d honed in the crucible of the past few years. “Depends on the secret,” she replied, her voice carefully neutral. “And who’s asking.” Silas returned with Liam’s drink, a dark amber liquid that smelled faintly of peat. He placed it before Liam, his gaze lingering on Aurora for a beat longer than usual before he moved away. Liam swirled the liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly. “It’s been… what, five years?” Aurora nodded. Five years since she’d fled London, fleeing Evan, fleeing the suffocating weight of her own potential failure. Five years since she’d seen Liam, his youthful idealism a beacon in the dim halls of academia. “You look… different,” she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Not bad different. Just… weathered.” He chuckled, a low, rich sound. “Life has a way of doing that, doesn’t it? You always had that pragmatism, Rory. I admired it, even when I thought it was cynicism.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “I took the other path. Leapt without looking, I suppose.” “The legal path?” Aurora ventured, a hopeful note in her voice. Liam’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not exactly. I dabbled. Then I found myself… elsewhere. Doing things I never thought I’d do.” He paused, his gaze distant. “I work in finance now. In the City. High stakes. Lots of moving parts.” Aurora pictured him in a crisp suit, shuffling papers in some sterile office. It felt so incongruous with the Liam she remembered – the one who debated politics until dawn, who dreamed of changing the world with impassioned speeches. “Venture capital,” he clarified, as if reading her thoughts. “Identifying nascent opportunities. Nurturing them. Or… divesting.” “Divesting?” “Sometimes,” he said, his tone flat, “you have to cut your losses.” The unspoken regret hung between them, a tangible thing. The road not taken. The idealism that had curdled. Aurora felt a strange kinship with the silhouetted man across from her, two ships that had weathered storms neither had anticipated. “You know,” she said, her voice softer, “I used to see you sometimes. In photos. On the news, occasionally. Always with important-looking people, in fancy places.” Liam’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “The public face. Necessary for the business.” He looked at her, his eyes probing. “And you? What happened to the bright legal mind that was going to argue for justice?” Aurora took a sip of her cider, the cool liquid a small comfort. “Life happened, Liam. Unexpected turns. Abuse. Fleeing. Realizing that the law, at least as I was taught it, was more about loopholes than justice.” She met his gaze, her own blue eyes steady. “Sometimes, you have to find survival first. Then justice.” He nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding in his expression. “Survival. I know a little about that.” He swirled his drink again, the ice a tiny storm in the amber liquid. “It’s just… I always thought you’d end up at the top. A QC. Defending the underdog.” “And I always thought you’d be out there, shouting from the rooftops, changing things with your words.” She gave a small, humorless laugh. “We were both wrong.” “Perhaps,” he conceded. “Or perhaps we just found different ways to fight.” He extended his hand across the table, his silver signet ring catching the dim light. “It’s good to see you, Rory. Truly. Even if it’s a shock.” Aurora hesitated for a moment, then placed her hand in his. His grip was firm, calloused. The stark contrast to the delicate skin of her left wrist, where the faint crescent of a childhood scar lay hidden beneath the cuff of her jumper. “You too, Liam,” she said, and for the first time that evening, a sliver of genuine warmth touched her voice. “But you’re not the same Liam O’Connell I remember.” “And you’re not the same Rory Carter either,” he replied, his gaze holding hers. “We carry our scars, don’t we? Some are just more visible than others.”