Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRB0Y0D1VXQWJJRH6CAR00

Aurora pushed through the green neon glow of The Raven’s Nest and felt the familiar scrape of her boots on scuffed floorboards. The air smelled of spilled whiskey and old paper. She blinked against the dim light, scanning the bar’s wall of maps and black-and-white photographs until hazel eyes met hers. Silas stood behind the counter, one hand resting on the grain of the wood, the other adjusting a silver signet ring. His auburn hair carried more silver than she remembered. A thin scar traced the knot of his brow. She stalled before the bar, half a step away. His gaze held hers, unreadable. Aurora tilted her head. “Si?” The name felt foreign on her tongue, like a dress outgrown. He lowered his forearm and reached out, the limp in his left leg nudging the stool forward. “Rory.” She slid onto the stool. The bar trembled under her weight, as if it sensed the years pressing between them. She watched him tuck loose strands of hair behind his ear, slow and careful. “Does this place always smell of broken promises?” Her voice ended in a question, but laughter hid beneath the rough edges. “You’d know.” He set a glass before her. Clear liquid caught every flicker of the neon sign above. He twisted a knife, slicing a sliver of lime. The rind fell onto a small plate with a soft thud. Aurora picked at her sleeve. “Never thought I’d see you running a bar.” She lifted the glass. “Or me stumbling into it.” Silas touched the brim of the glass. “Prague taught me how to limp. Soho taught me how to hide.” She watched his mouth tighten around the knife’s cut. “You weren’t so good at hiding back then.” She set down the glass and wrapped both hands around the stem. He turned away, rolling a bottle between his palms. “You taught me that.” Aurora blinked. “I did?” He met her eyes. “When you showed up at that safe house with a stack of law books and questions no one could answer, I realised I’d underestimated you.” She stared at the rows of bottles, memories filling the swirling light. “That was ten years ago.” Silas pressed a rag flat against the countertop. “Ten years,” he said softly. “And you left before I could tell you what happened to Mariska.” Her pulse tightened. She’d asked once, back then, and he’d only shaken his head. “I got cold feet.” She touched the crescent scar on her left wrist. “I went back to Cardiff.” “You ran.” She rubbed the bar’s surface, fingertips tracing its grooves. “I had reasons.” He slid a coaster toward her—linen, embroidered with the bar’s raven emblem. “I had a network to rebuild.” She lifted the coaster as if it carried the weight of his apology. “Every time I thought of coming back, you vanished.” Silas uncorked a new bottle. Liquid hissed into the empty space. “I promised you I’d keep you safe. Sometimes safe meant disappearing.” Aurora’s breath caught. “You never tried to reach out.” He measured another pour. “I couldn’t risk you getting tangled in… this.” His hand swept the bottles. “All of it.” She stared at the dark wood. “I delivered food to this place once,” she said, voice low. “Didn’t see you then.” Silas dropped the knife onto the counter with a soft clatter. “Delivery person?” He offered a half-smile. “You? I should’ve known.” Aurora lifted her chin, eyes bright against the bar’s gloom. “Part-time gig. Golden Empress. I deliver dumplings, you know.” He shook his head, lips curved. “Everything’s changed.” She touched the glass’s rim. “I changed too.” Silas reached forward, paused, then let his hand fall flat. “Tell me.” She turned the glass so the lime floated against the side. “I’m not the same girl who ran into your arms that night in Prague.” The words drifted out before she could catch them. “I’m… harder.” He pressed his lips together, as though deciding which piece of her confession he could trust. “Hardened can be a shield.” Aurora watched his fingers tap out a rhythm on the wood. “It can also be a cage.” He leaned in, the limp momentarily forgotten. “What’s in your cage, Rory?” Her smile was brittle. “Regrets. Law school. Ev— Evan. You remember him.” Silas’s jaw clenched. “I remember your phone calls. You crying because he—” “He cornered me one night.” She swiped the glass sideways, shattering the silence. “Left the scar.” He lifted a hand to the scar on his cheek, half a shrug. “Scars don’t lie.” Aurora traced the rim. “I ran here after I left Evan. Didn’t know where else to go. I walked into this bar hoping you’d be here.” Silas’s gaze flicked up, his breath catching. “Why didn’t you call?” She shook her head, dark hair brushing her shoulders. “Pride.” He handed her a cloth. “Pride can burn you alive.” She dabbed at a drop of condensation. “I burnt Brussels instead.” She laughed, a sharp sound. “You should’ve seen my thesis on EU law. Pages and pages of wasted ink.” Silas twisted the cloth into a knot. “Your work always made me jealous.” Her shoulders dropped. “I made choices I thought would save me. Ended up lost anyway.” He slid the cloth into a basin. “No one’s ever lost forever.” Aurora stared into her drink. “What about you? MI6 gone. Prague bungled. Raven’s Nest.” She tipped her head toward the hidden doorway behind the bookshelf. “This front.” Silas unlocked a door behind the bar, revealing a room lit by a single lamp. Maps pinned across every wall. Strings and pins formed a spider’s web of contacts. Papers lay scattered on a table. She rose, stepping through the threshold. “You kept busy.” He followed, placing the bar’s last bottle on the shelf. “Work doesn’t heal.” Aurora traced a pin stuck into Berlin. “You were here in ’14.” He picked up a photograph from the table: a faded image of a woman in Prague. Her smile almost reached her eyes. “Mariska.” She turned away. “I didn’t know.” He folded his arms. “That night you left, I promised her I’d keep the running quiet. She never saw the bullets coming.” Aurora’s throat contracted. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head, turning the photo face-down. “You can’t fix what's already broken.” She touched his sleeve. “Maybe we can piece it together.” Silas blinked, as if stunned. “Piece… together?” Her hand dropped. “I don’t know. Start with this.” She tapped her wrist. “I’ve been saving stories, bits of law that felt like truths. I could help.” He stared at the ceiling beams—dark planks holding the world up. “You’d do that?” She nodded, breath steady. “If you— if we—” He exhaled, heavy, a sound caught between hope and fear. “We could try.” Aurora smiled, a slow curl that warmed the room. Silas turned away. From the doorway, he called out, “Back to the bar, Rory. Drinks on me.” She crossed back, shoulders lifted as if she carried wings. The neon sign above flickered, green light pooling around them. Silas set down two glasses. One he filled with amber liquid, the other with clear. He slid one toward her without looking up. Aurora wrapped both hands around the glass. “To second chances?” He lifted his. Fingers brushed the rim. “To finding our way.” The door to the secret room clicked closed behind them. The bar held its breath as they drank.