Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR2KGTYWC07ZQ4Z443B2TD

The green neon sign above the entrance buzzed with a low, electric hum, casting a sickly emerald glow over the wet pavement of Soho. Aurora Carter pushed open the door of The Raven's Nest, the bell above the frame chiming a dull welcome. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old wood, polished brass, and the faint, lingering smoke of cigars that hadn't been lit in years. She shook the rain from her straight, shoulder-length black hair, her bright blue eyes adjusting to the dim light. She had not planned to come here tonight. Her shift at the Golden Empress had ended an hour ago, and the flat above the bar offered solitude. But the walls of her room had felt too close, pressing in on her like the hands of a past she thought she had escaped. She needed the noise of the crowd, the anonymity of the shadows. Aurora moved toward the bar, her boots clicking softly on the floorboards. The walls were covered with old maps and black-and-white photographs, faces frozen in time, watching the patrons with silent judgment. She traced the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist with her thumb, a nervous habit she had never quite broken. It was a reminder of a childhood accident, harmless compared to the other marks life had left on her, but tonight it throbbed with a phantom ache. She found a stool near the back, away from the main cluster of drinkers. Silas Blackwood was behind the bar, polishing a glass with a methodical rhythm. He looked up, his hazel eyes meeting hers. He gave a slight nod, the neat beard matching his grey-streaked auburn hair moving with the gesture. He did not speak. He knew better than to ask questions when she came down this late. He simply poured a glass of water and set it before her, his silver signet ring catching the low light as his hand retreated. He moved with a slight limp in his left leg, an old injury from a life he rarely discussed, but tonight his presence was a comforting anchor. Aurora wrapped her hands around the glass, the condensation cooling her palms. She stared into the liquid, trying to steady her breathing. That was when she saw her. Sitting in a booth near the secret room entrance, partially obscured by the shadows, was a woman with familiar eyes. Eva. The air left Aurora's lungs in a sharp rush. They had not seen each other in years, not since the night Aurora fled Cardiff. Eva had been the one to tell her to go, to run, to leave everything behind including the safety of their friendship. Aurora had obeyed, disappearing into London while Eva stayed behind to deal with the fallout. Aurora should have left. She should have turned around and walked back up the stairs to her flat. But Eva looked up, and their eyes locked across the dim expanse of the bar. There was no surprise in Eva's face, only a weary recognition. She beckoned with a slight tilt of her head. Aurora stood, her legs feeling heavy, and walked over. She slid into the booth opposite her childhood friend. Eva looked older, the lines around her mouth deeper than Aurora remembered, her hair styled in a way that spoke of a stability Aurora had never achieved. You look well, Eva said. Her voice was the same, but the warmth was muted, covered by a layer of caution. Aurora tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. I manage. Delivery work keeps me moving. I heard you were living above the bar. Eva gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. Silas takes care of his own. He does. Silence stretched between them, filled by the clink of glasses and the low murmur of conversation from the main room. It was a heavy silence, weighted with the things they had not said during the frantic phone calls years ago, the things left unsaid when Aurora changed her number and stopped answering. I thought about calling, Aurora said, the words feeling rough in her throat. After I got settled. I know, Eva replied. She traced the rim of her glass. But you needed to disappear. I understood. Did you? Aurora asked, her voice dropping. Because it felt like I was abandoning you. Leaving you there with him. With Evan. Eva's expression tightened. Evan is no longer anyone's problem. He moved away. Cardiff is quiet. Quiet. The word hung in the air. Aurora looked down at her left wrist, the scar pale against her skin. She had come to London to find safety, and she had found it in the shadows of Silas's network, in the routine of delivery routes and the safety of the Nest. But she had lost the person who had helped her find the door. I changed, Aurora said softly. I'm not the girl who left Cardiff. No, you're not. Eva looked at her, really looked at her, taking in the guarded stance, the eyes that scanned the room even while sitting down. You're harder. I had to be. I know. Eva reached across the table, her hand hovering over Aurora's before pulling back. I just wanted to see for myself. That you made it. Aurora felt a sting behind her eyes, but she blinked it away. She was twenty-five years old, not a child. She was not the victim who had run away in the night. She was the woman who survived. I made it, Aurora said. But I missed you. Eva nodded, a slow, solemn movement. We can't go back, Rory. To who we were. Too much time. Too much water under the bridge. I know. But, Eva added, her voice softening just enough to break the tension, I'm in London for a few days. Teaching conference. I'm staying at the Premier down the road. Aurora looked up, hope flaring dangerously in her chest. You want to get coffee? Tomorrow. Morning. Eva stood up, smoothing her coat. Don't be late. She turned and walked toward the exit, passing Silas at the bar. She nodded to him, a gesture of mutual respect between strangers who understood the weight of secrets. The green neon sign flickered as the door opened and closed, letting in a gust of cold London air before sealing the bar back into its dim sanctuary. Aurora sat alone in the booth. The weight in her chest had not vanished, but it had shifted. It was no longer just regret. It was possibility. She looked at her wrist, then at the bar where Silas was wiping down the counter, his movements steady and sure. She took a sip of the water. It was cold and clean. She would be there tomorrow. She would not run this time.