Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQVJN4BDTPMWD714ME3TN9

The Raven’s Nest smelled of damp wool, stale beer, and polish. Rory leaned against the bar, waiting for Silas to finish counting stock in the back room. She traced the crescent scar on her wrist with a thumb, watching the door. The green neon sign outside cast a sickly glow through the grimy window, painting the framed maps on the wall in alien hues. The bell above the door jangled. A man stepped in, shaking rain from a dark overcoat. He moved with a stiff, careful economy, like someone who’d learned the hard way not to waste motion. He hung his coat on a stand near the door, running a hand through hair that was more salt than pepper now, cut ruthlessly short. Rory’s breath hitched. She knew the shape of those shoulders, the way he stood with his weight shifted slightly onto his right leg. She hadn’t seen that silhouette in fifteen years, not since he’d hugged her goodbye outside her parents’ house in Cardiff, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, promising to write. He never did. Silas emerged from the back, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes flicked from Rory to the newcomer. “Dawson.” “Silas.” The voice was the same. Deeper, rougher around the edges, but the same. Ethan Dawson turned. His gaze swept the empty bar, passed over Rory, then snapped back. His eyes, a faded blue she remembered being brighter, widened. The lines around them deepened. He looked like he’d been struck. “Rory?” She nodded, her throat tight. “Ethan.” He closed the distance between them in three long strides. Up close, he looked older than his years. A thin, pale scar bisected his left eyebrow. Another, thicker and knotted, peeked from the collar of his shirt. His hands, resting on the worn bartop, were scarred too, the knuckles lumpy and misshapen. “Christ,” he breathed. “Look at you.” “I could say the same.” She forced a smile. “You’re… here.” “Meeting Silas. Business.” His eyes never left her face. “You’re here.” “I live upstairs.” “Upstairs.” He repeated it like a foreign word. “Since when?” “A while.” She shrugged, a gesture that felt too casual for the lead weight in her chest. “You?” “In London? On and off. Mostly off.” Silas cleared his throat. “I’ll be in the back. Dawson, your usual’s on the shelf.” Ethan nodded without looking away from Rory. Silas disappeared behind the bookshelf that hid the secret room. The silence that followed was thick enough to bottle. The only sound was the patter of rain against the window. “Can I get you a drink?” Rory asked, slipping behind the bar. It gave her something to do with her hands. “Scotch. Neat.” She pulled down a bottle of Silas’s good stuff, the one he kept for special occasions or old spies. Poured two fingers into a heavy tumbler, slid it across to him. He caught it, his fingers brushing hers. The contact was electric, brief. He took a long swallow. “You left Cardiff,” he said. “I did.” “Your dad. He must have been thrilled.” “He got over it.” “And Evan?” The name, dropped so casually, felt like a physical blow. She focused on wiping a nonexistent spot off the bar. “That’s over.” “Good.” She looked up at him. “Is it?” He held her gaze. His eyes were windows to a place she didn’t recognize. Hard, guarded. The boy she’d known, the one who laughed easily and talked about sailing around the world, was gone. This man was carved from something colder. “It wasn’t a good match.” “You knew?” “I heard things.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “From mutual friends. Or what used to be mutual friends.” “You never reached out.” “You never answered my letters.” “You wrote one letter, Ethan. One. And it was three lines long.” “I was in Kosovo.” The words were flat, devoid of inflection. “It was… a difficult time to be poetic.” She leaned forward, her palms flat on the bar. “What happened to you?” He smiled, a thin, humorless stretch of lips. “Life. You changed too, Rory. You’re harder.” “Had to be.” “Because of him?” “Because of a lot of things.” She straightened. “So. Business with Silas. You’re not… you’re not in the army anymore.” “Not officially.” “But you’re still… doing things.” “Things need doing.” “What kind of things?” He looked into his glass, then drained it. “The kind that leave scars.” He pushed the glass toward her. “Another?” She poured. Her hands were steady. She was grateful for that. “Silas said you’re in and out. Where’s ‘in’?” “Here and there. Africa. Middle East. Places where the plumbing’s bad and the politics are worse.” “Alone?” “Usually.” “No one waiting for you?” He met her eyes again. “No.” The word hung between them. It felt like an admission, a surrender. She thought of the boy who’d talked about a house by the sea, a boat, a family. This man had none of that. He had scars and silence and a glass of scotch in a Soho bar. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “For what?” “That you didn’t get the life you wanted.” He barked a laugh, sharp and raw. “Who said I wanted it? The sea’s cold, Rory. Boats sink. Families…” He trailed off, shook his head. “This is the life I got. It suits me.” “Does it?” “It does now.” He studied her. “And you? Delivering Chinese food and living above a spy’s bar. Is this the life you wanted?” “It’s the one I chose.” “After Evan.” “After a lot of things.” She mirrored his earlier words back to him. He nodded slowly, as if accepting a verdict. “You look well. Strong.” “So do you.” It was a lie. He looked like he’d been through a war. Several. The rain eased to a drizzle. The neon sign buzzed softly. From the back room, the muffled sound of Silas’s radio leaked through, playing some old jazz standard. Ethan pushed his glass away. “I should go.” “You haven’t seen Silas.” “Another time.” He stood, retrieved his coat. Shrugged it on with the same economical motion. “It was good to see you, Rory.” “You too.” The words tasted like ash. He paused at the door, his hand on the latch. Looked back at her, standing behind the bar, illuminated by the weak green light. For a second, the boy flickered in his eyes—a glimpse of the old, easy smile, the unguarded warmth. Then it was gone, snuffed out. “Take care of yourself,” he said. “You too.”