Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFMA14YMZRCWSCCTFFRAS3

The Raven’s Nest smelled of aged oak, spilled beer, and something sharper—like ozone and old secrets. Aurora Carter, alias Rory, alias Laila, pushed through the heavy oak door, the green neon sign flickering above her like a watchful eye. She’d delivered to this bar once before, but never lingered. Tonight, she was here for a different kind of cargo: a quiet corner table, a stiff gin and tonic, and the illusion of anonymity. The bar was a labyrinth of shadows, the low hum of conversation muffled by the thick air. She spotted a vacant stool at the far end of the polished mahogany bar, tucked beneath a framed sepia photograph of a foggy London street. Perfect. She slid onto the stool, the worn leather creaking softly. The bartender, a man with eyes like polished obsidian, nodded curtly. “Gin and tonic, straight up.” Aurora handed over a ten-pound note. The bartender’s movements were precise, economical. She watched him for a moment, noting the slight tremor in his left hand as he slid the glass across the bar. A veteran, probably. She took a slow sip, the cool liquid a welcome contrast to the London heat outside. The bar was her sanctuary tonight, a place to breathe before the next delivery run. Then, the door chimed again. A familiar scent, like damp wool and pipe tobacco, cut through the bar’s usual haze. Aurora’s head snapped up. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the neon glow, was Silas Blackwood. Silas, who’d been her mentor, her anchor, her friend—before the Prague operation, before the limp, before the silence. The man who’d taught her to read people like open books, to trust her instincts above all else. The man who’d vanished without a trace five years ago. Silas’s gaze swept the bar, landing on her with a precision that made her skin prickle. He didn’t move immediately, just stood there, the green light catching the grey streaks in his auburn hair, the neatly trimmed beard framing his face. His right hand rested near the silver signet ring on his cuff. A limp, subtle but undeniable, marked his step as he finally crossed the threshold. He didn’t sit; he leaned against the bar, his back to her, his eyes fixed on the swirling amber liquid in his glass. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, filled only by the distant clink of glasses and the low murmur of the bar. Aurora felt the familiar weight of his scrutiny. She took another sip, forcing her breathing to steady. “Silas.” Her voice was low, devoid of its usual warmth. “Long time, no see.” He didn’t turn. “Rory.” His voice was gravelly, a relic from another life. “Or should I say Laila? Or Aurora?” He finally shifted, turning his head slightly, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. The hazel eyes, once so sharp, so perceptive, now held a depth of weariness she hadn’t seen before. “You’ve changed.” It wasn’t a question. “And you,” she countered, her gaze flicking to the slight hitch in his step, the way he favored his left leg. “Still carrying that old injury.” The scar on her own wrist, a crescent moon, tightened beneath her sleeve. “Or is it just the weight?” He took a slow sip of his drink, the silence stretching again. “The weight changes you, Rory. It bends you, reshapes you.” He finally slid onto the stool beside her, the leather groaning under his weight. “You look… different. More settled.” His eyes scanned her face, lingering on her black hair, her bright blue eyes. “Still the quick thinker, though. Always the quick thinker.” “Settled?” Aurora snorted, a dry sound in the quiet bar. “I deliver food for a living, Silas. I live above a bar. My biggest decision is whether to take the tube or walk in the rain.” She gestured vaguely towards the door. “You? You own a bar. You’re a Spymaster. You’re… something else.” The unspoken question hung between them: *What did you become?* Silas’s gaze dropped to the signet ring on his cuff. “I’m still here, Rory. That’s something, isn’t it?” He finally met her eyes again, the hazel reflecting the neon light. “Prague… it changed things. For everyone.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You left. You disappeared. I heard about Evan. I heard about Cardiff.” His voice softened slightly. “You were running, Rory. Running from something.” “Running from myself,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “From the person I’d become. The person I’d let Evan make me.” She looked away, focusing on the swirling ice in her glass. “I thought… I thought I could outrun it. Outrun the guilt, the fear.” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to look back at him. “But you? You vanished. Just… gone. No note, no explanation. You left me with questions I couldn’t answer.” The unspoken regret was a physical ache in her chest. *Why didn’t you tell me?* Silas’s expression was unreadable, a mask of stone over the familiar eyes. “Sometimes, Rory, the only way to protect the people you care about is to disappear. To become someone else.” He gestured vaguely towards the bar. “This… this is my penance. My way of staying connected, without being seen.” He finally turned fully towards her, his gaze intense. “You found your way, Rory. You found yours. I… I lost mine.” The admission hung in the air, heavy and final. “Five years. That’s a long time to be gone.” “And you’re back,” she said softly, the words tasting like ash. “Why now? Why here?” The green neon sign outside seemed to pulse, casting long, distorted shadows across the bar’s worn surfaces. The weight of time, the unspoken regret, the chasm between who they were and who they’d become, pressed down on them both. The silence wasn’t awkward anymore; it was a shared understanding, a bridge built on shattered pieces. “What do you want, Silas?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “To see the ghost of your protégé? To check if the old tricks still work?” Silas Blackwood didn’t answer immediately. He simply raised his glass in a silent toast, the silver signet ring catching the neon light, a stark reminder of the man he’d been and the man he’d become. The bar, with its hidden room and its secrets, held them both now, two ghosts bound by a past they could never fully escape.