Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR59K80ARCBWXBYDGHF7M2

The green neon light of the bar's sign shone through the window, casting a surreal glow on the cobblestones and the figure leaning against the wall. Rory paused mid-stride as she recognised the sharp angles of the silhouette, familiar even after all these years. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the door handle, unsure if she should interrupt. But the figure raised its head, eyes locking with hers, and in that moment, she knew she was meant to be there. 'Rory,' a rough voice called out, laced with a roughness that age had carved. 'Is that you?' She pushed open the door, letting the warm glow of the bar welcome her. An old friend stood there, a half-smile frozen on his face, uncertainty waging war with the recognition twinkling in his dark eyes. 'Si?' she breathed, taking in the bar's clandestine atmosphere. Old maps and photographs created a conspiratorial backdrop, enhancing the clandestine intimacy of the reunion. 'It's been a while, kiddo.' His once-authoritative voice, now softened by time, carried a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. She smiled, noticing the grey creeping into his auburn hair, the hint of a beard rounding his jawline, and the slight limp in his stride. 'You're looking well,' she lied. The man before her now bore the scars of time's toil. But his eyes retained the keen intelligence and dry humour she recalled. 'Busy?' she asked, glancing at the bar counter with a suggestion of an eyebrow raise. 'Not at all. Take a seat.' He gestured to the booth. 'I owe you that much.' She slid into a booth, the worn leather creaking in welcome. A ring, silver and worn, glinted on his hand as he set two glasses on the scarred wood. She traced the grain with her finger, remembering similar markings on the coffee table at home. A thousand memories threaded their way into the present, each leaving a trace of longing and regret. 'So, Rory Carter,' he said, taking the seat opposite. The drinks were forgotten as they leapt into a conversation weighted by the passage of time. 'Or do you prefer Laila now? Malphora was always my personal favourite.' 'Rory's fine,' she replied, recognising the old nicknames spoken with a mix of tender familiarity and biting irony. 'I'd hoped to catch you another time. I didn't know you still owned this place.' 'I've never really been able to let go of my old life. But it's quieter here these days. No more Prague,' he said, the memory scalding him with bitterness. She reached across the table, her hand hovering near his, but paused as if the space between them held a current that denied contact. 'I'm sorry, Si. Truly. You never deserved any of that.' He shrugged, his grey eyes hooded. 'It's water under the bridge now. But I'm glad you came. I never thought I'd see you again after... well, after.' He trailed off, his face grim. 'Me neither. But I heard you were back in town and I couldn't just not look you up.' She spoke over the knot in her throat. 'Not like old times, eh?' He said, the joke falling flat. 'I missed you, Rory. I really did. And I wish...' He frowned, the words dying in his throat. 'Me too,' she whispered, the air between them thick with unspoken regrets, words they couldn't bring themselves to say. The pause stretched, fraught with the weight of their history. 'I suppose we should catch up.' Her voice carried a note of hollow cheerfulness. 'I heard you opened this place after you left. How's business?' 'Steady. It's become more than a bar, though.' The bar's worn wood seemed to pulse with history, absorbing and dispensing stories with each patron. 'I had to retire from the service after Prague, but this place has become my retirement fund and my penance.' She raised an eyebrow, surprised by his candour. 'You never struck me as the penitent type.' He grunted, his lips twisting in a half-smile. 'A man like me has a lot to atone for. A lifetime of dodgy deals and unsavoury alliances. It's the only way I can sleep at night, these days.' 'You're being too hard on yourself.' She reached across the table, her fingertips brushing the back of his hand, the skin rough with age. 'I know some things are hard to forget, but you've done a lot of good, too. You saved people.' 'I guess that's the best one can do. Try to make amends for the past,' he said, his face softening at her touch. She smiled, her bright eyes welling with unshed tears. 'You didn't have to do it alone, you know. I've always been here for you. I still am.' He looked at her, the pain in his eyes melting into acceptance. 'I know. I should've reached out sooner. But it's not easy letting people in when you spend your life keeping secrets.'