Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMRC5HBKNR5TCYEKZYFR980

The bell above the door of The Raven’s Nest gave a cheerful, if slightly tinny, announcement of her arrival. Aurora pulled her worn leather jacket tighter, the London chill seeping through the seams. The bar was darker than she remembered, the usual low hum of conversation muffled by the late hour and the smell of stale beer and something vaguely of polish. Silas’s distinctive green neon sign had been visible from halfway down the block, a welcome beacon in the labyrinthine Soho streets. She moved with the practiced efficiency of someone who delivered food for a living, scanning the room for a familiar face. Silas himself was behind the bar, his back to her, polishing glasses with a steady rhythm. His auburn hair, liberally streaked with grey, was shorter than she recalled, and he’d trimmed his beard to match. Even from this distance, she noticed the slight, familiar favouring of his left leg as he shifted his weight. He looked… settled. Grounded. A far cry from the coiled, restless energy she’d known. "Evening, Silas," she said, her voice a little rusty from disuse. He turned, a framed photograph of a smiling woman with bright blue eyes held in his hand. The polishing cloth stilled. His hazel eyes, sharp and assessing as always, widened almost imperceptibly. "Rory?" He set the photograph down carefully, his gaze sweeping over her, taking in the practical clothes, the smudge of something greasy on her cheek, the way she carried herself with a kind of wary alertness. A slow smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "My word. Aurora Carter. What brings you slumming it in my establishment?" She chuckled, a genuine sound that surprised even herself. "Slumming? It's the classiest joint in Soho, Silas. And besides, I’ve got a delivery just around the corner." A half-truth, but close enough. "What were you doing with that picture?" Silas picked it up again, his expression softening. "Just remembering. That's my daughter, Elara. She’d have been twenty-two this year." Aurora blinked. Silas had a daughter? She’d known him for years, years spent in the orbit of espionage, of hushed conversations and coded messages, and he’d never mentioned a child. Of course, she hadn't been privy to all facets of his life. None of them ever truly were. "I didn't know you had a daughter," she said, moving further into the bar, the worn floorboards creaking softly under her feet. "She’s gone now," Silas said, his voice quiet. He gestured to an empty stool at the bar. "Sit. You don't get yourself into Soho often enough for a chance encounter." She perched on the stool, her jacket rustling. The air inside felt warmer, a welcome respite from the biting wind outside. The walls were indeed plastered with maps and old photographs, faded sepia and stark black-and-white images of a London she barely recognized. "Deliveries," she explained, shrugging. "From Golden Empress. Lives above a bar, you know how it is." Silas gave a nod. "I do. Used to be the world kept turning from behind a counter. Still does, I suppose. Just at a different pace." He poured her a small measure of amber liquid into a clean glass. "Your usual?" "What can I get you?" That was the question, wasn't it? What could she get him? A drink? Absolution? A reminder of the life she’d left behind? "Whiskey. Neat." He slid the glass across the polished wood. Her fingers, calloused from years of gripping handlebars and door handles, curled around the cool glass. She took a sip. It burned, a welcome sensation that chased away the chill. "So," Silas said, leaning his forearms on the bar, his limp barely noticeable now. "The pre-law student. Still keen on upholding the letter of the law?" Aurora’s jaw tightened infinitesimally. "Not exactly. Life took a few… detours." "Detours often lead to the most interesting destinations," he mused, his gaze steady. "Or so I've found." She didn't want to talk about the detours. She didn't want to talk about Evan, or the hollowness that had followed him. She didn't want to talk about Cardiff, about the stifling predictability of it all. She certainly didn't want to talk about the gnawing disappointment in her father's eyes when she’d first called him from London, confessing her grand escape. "And you, Silas? Still running your network from behind this very welcoming front?" She tried for a light tone, but it fell somewhere short of the mark. Silas laughed, a low rumble. "The Raven's Nest keeps me occupied. And it provides a certain… convenience." He gestured vaguely with the polishing cloth. "The world still needs a few well-placed individuals, Rory. And some of us are getting too old to chase shadows across continents. Better to let them come to us." He was still a spymaster. She’d known that, of course. It was why she’d sought him out all those years ago, a green, terrified girl with too much knowledge and no one to trust. He’d offered her refuge, purpose, a way to use the sharp edges of her mind for something other than survival. He’d been her mentor, her anchor in the churning chaos of London. "I thought you'd retired. Back to the countryside, perhaps. Growing prize-winning roses or something," she said, swirling the whiskey in her glass. "Retirement is a state of mind, Rory. And mine finds its greatest peace amongst the maps and the memories." He picked up the photograph of Elara again, his thumb brushing lightly over the image. "She used to draw herself into the corners of my maps. Dragons in the margins, entirely new continents blooming from the ink." Another pang. Not just of regret for her own path, but for the man Silas had become, so profoundly altered by loss. He’d always been all about the mission, the objective. Personal lives were secondary, often sacrificed. He’d taught her that too. "She sounds like she had your imagination," Aurora ventured. "More than mine," Silas agreed, his eyes distant. "She saw the world not as it was, but as it could be. Full of colour and possibility. I… I was too busy seeing enemies. Too busy ensuring the borders remained intact." He met her gaze again, and in his eyes, she saw not just loss, but a deep, abiding sorrow. "The greatest regret of a life spent guarding others is failing to guard the ones closest to you." The weight of his words settled over Aurora, heavy and suffocating. She felt the truth of it in her bones. She’d fled an abusive relationship, changed her name, her life. She'd run so far, so fast. But had she truly managed to keep anyone close safe? Herself, certainly. But her father? Her mother? Eva, who’d brought her to London? "I… I’m sorry about Elara, Silas," she managed, the words feeling inadequate and clumsy. "Thank you, Rory." He gave a small nod, accepting her condolence with the quiet grace that was so uniquely his. He turned to wipe down another section of the bar. "And to you, Aurora Carter, for escaping whatever it was that had you running." She flinched inwardly. He knew. Of course, he knew. Silas blackwood knew everything worth knowing. "It wasn't much of an escape," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Just… a change of scene." "Sometimes a change of scene is all the escape one needs to find a new path," he said, his gaze steady. "You always were a quick study, Rory. Adaptable." She held his gaze, surprised by the unexpected warmth in his tone. She’d expected judgment, or a lecture on wasted potential. Instead, there was understanding. Acceptance. "I learned from the best," she said, a faint smile touching her lips. Silas considered her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You’re still working for Cheung?" "Part-time. Pays the rent. Mostly." "And your… other pursuits?" Aurora’s hand instinctively went to her left wrist, tracing the faint, crescent-shaped scar hidden beneath the fabric of her jacket. "Still keeping my eyes open. Running my own errands." "Good. The world needs eyes. And minds that can see things others miss." He looked at her, a glint of the old spymaster in his hazel eyes. "Don't ever let them dull, Rory." She met his gaze, a flicker of the girl who’d sought his help years ago stirring within her. The girl who’d been afraid, but also fiercely determined. The girl who was still, in her own way, navigating the intricate maps of her life. "I won't, Silas," she vowed. "I won't." The silence that fell between them was filled with the unspoken. The years gone by, the paths diverged, the quiet understanding that had formed the bedrock of their unlikely friendship. Silas picked up the glass containing Elara’s photograph and turned it, his gaze lingering on the bright blue eyes. Aurora watched him, a strange sense of peace settling over her. The detours had been long, and sometimes brutally hard, but perhaps, just perhaps, they had brought her to a place where she could finally see the map clearly. And in seeing it, understand that the journey, with all its twists and turns, was the destination itself.