AI The green neon sign of *The Raven’s Nest * flickered weakly against the rain-slicked pavement, its glow bleeding into the puddles like spilled ink. Rory paused on the threshold, her breath fogging in the cold air, her fingers tightening around the handle of her delivery bag. The door swung inward before she could push it, and the scent of aged whiskey and something smoky and unfamiliar hit her.
Silas stood behind the bar, polishing a glass with a rag that had seen better decades. His auburn hair was longer than she remembered, streaked with silver now, and his beard—neatly trimmed then—had grown out just enough to soften the sharp angles of his face. His hazel eyes lifted from the glass, and for a heartbeat, the world stilled.
Then he smiled.
It wasn’t the same grin he’d given her in Prague, all teeth and mischief, but it was close enough to make her chest ache.
“Well, well,” he said, voice rougher than she recalled. “If it isn’t the girl who used to steal my whiskey when I wasn’t looking.”
Rory’s fingers twitched at her sides. “You still do that?”
“Only when you’re not around to catch me.” His gaze flicked over her—her black delivery uniform, the scar on her wrist she’d long since stopped checking for. “You look like hell.”
She exhaled through her nose, a laugh bubbling up before she could stop it. “Thanks.”
The bar was quieter than she’d expected. A few regulars hunched over their drinks at the far end, their faces half-lit by the dim overhead bulbs. The walls were still lined with maps and photographs, but the air smelled different—older, like the wood beneath the floorboards had finally decided to rot.
Silas slid a glass across the counter. “Whiskey. Neat.”
She didn’t hesitate. “You remember how I take it.”
“Of course I do.” He leaned against the bar, his limp more pronounced than she’d noticed in the few seconds she’d been inside. “You’re still the same, aren’t you? Always rushing in where angels fear to tread.”
Rory took a slow sip, the burn of the whiskey grounding her. “And you’re still the same, too. Still giving orders like it’s second nature.”
Silas’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Some habits die harder than others.”
She studied him—the way his fingers drummed lightly against the bar, the faint tension in his jaw. “You look like you’ve been carrying something heavy.”
“Just the weight of another decade.” He gestured to the stool beside him. “Sit. Before someone else claims it.”
She pulled it out, the wood groaning under her weight . The stool was higher than she remembered, the cushion worn thin. “You’ve been busy.”
“So have you.” His voice dropped, just slightly . “Last I heard, you were still chasing ghosts in Cardiff.”
Rory’s fingers tightened around the glass. “I left.”
“Ah.” Silas’s gaze flicked to her wrist, then away. “That’s what I heard.”
She didn’t answer. The silence stretched, thick with things unsaid.
A man at the end of the bar cleared his throat. “You two know each other?”
Silas’s smile returned, this time sharper. “Old friends. From the old country.”
The man nodded, then turned back to his drink, but not before Rory caught the way his eyes lingered on her—on the way she moved, the way she held herself. Like she was used to being watched.
“You’re not here for the whiskey,” Silas said, low enough that only she could hear. “You’re here for something else.”
Rory set her glass down with a sharp *clink *. “You always were good at reading people.”
“And you were always terrible at hiding.” He pushed the glass toward her. “Drink up. We’ve got company.”
She took another sip, the whiskey burning her throat. “What kind of company?”
“The kind that doesn’t like being ignored.” Silas’s voice dropped, his gaze sweeping the room . “And the kind that remembers what you did.”
Rory’s pulse spiked. She hadn’t thought about Prague in years—not like this. Not like it was still a wound that hadn’t quite scabbed over .
“You’re talking about the job,” she said, though she already knew.
Silas didn’t deny it. “You ran. That’s not something I forget.”
She swallowed. “I had reasons.”
“So did I.” His voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. “And I don’t make excuses for them.”
The door chimed again, and Rory’s head snapped up. A woman in a tailored coat stepped inside, her heels clicking against the floor. She was older than Rory, her dark hair streaked with silver, her sharp eyes scanning the room before landing on Silas.
“Took you long enough,” she said, her voice like polished stone.
Silas didn’t move. “Lena.”
The woman—Lena—pushed past him, her coat brushing against Rory’s arm. “You look well, darling.”
Rory didn’t answer. She didn’t trust the way Lena’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Silas finally turned back to her, his expression unreadable . “She’s here about the same thing you are.”
Rory’s breath hitched. “What thing?”
Silas’s gaze flicked to the door, then back to her. “The past.”
Lena slid onto the stool beside Rory, her perfume sharp and familiar . “You remember me, don’t you?”
Rory didn’t look at her. “I remember your name.”
Lena laughed, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. “Clever girl. Always were.”
Silas sighed, rubbing his temples. “Lena, this is Rory Carter. Rory, Lena Voss.”
Rory finally met Lena’s eyes. They were the same color as Silas’s—hazel, but sharper, colder. Like a blade polished too long.
“You’re the one who left us in Prague,” Lena said, her voice smooth as silk over steel . “The one who walked away.”
Rory’s fingers curled into fists beneath the bar. “I had a reason.”
Lena tilted her head, studying her. “Did you?”
Silas’s voice cut through the tension . “Enough.”
Lena ignored him. “You were always the reckless one. Always running before you knew where you were going.”
Rory’s jaw tightened. “And you were always the one who liked it that way.”
Lena’s smile didn’t waver. “I liked it because it worked.”
The air between them crackled, charged with something old and dangerous. Rory could feel it in her bones—the weight of what they’d done, what they’d left behind. The way Silas watched them, his expression unreadable , made her skin prickle.
She set her glass down with a deliberate *clink *. “I’m not here to talk about Prague.”
Lena’s gaze flicked to Silas, then back to Rory. “Then what are you here for?”
Rory’s voice was steady, but her hands were shaking . “I need to know what happened to him.”
Silas’s breath caught. For the first time, his mask slipped. Just for a second, his face softened, his eyes darkening with something like pain .
Lena’s smile turned razor-thin. “You think we’d tell you?”
Rory didn’t look away. “I think you owe me that much.”
Silas exhaled sharply , his fingers tightening around his glass. “You don’t owe anyone anything, Rory.”
“Do I not?” Rory’s voice was low, dangerous. “Because I remember how you all left me standing in that alley, telling me to run. Telling me to save myself.”
Lena’s laugh was sharp. “You were never the saving type.”
Silas’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough.”
Rory’s gaze snapped to him. “You told me to run. You told me to get out.”
Silas’s eyes flashed, his jaw clenched . “I told you to survive.”
Rory’s breath came fast, her chest tight. “And you did. You survived.”
Silas’s voice was rough. “I didn’t walk away.”
Lena’s smile didn’t falter. “No. But you didn’t have to.”
Rory’s fingers trembled around her glass. “What happened to him?”
Silas’s gaze locked onto hers, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t name. “He’s dead.”
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Rory’s breath left her in a rush, her vision swimming.
Lena’s voice was soft, almost pitying. “You should’ve known.”
Rory’s hands shook. “I didn’t—”
“You didn’t know anything,” Lena finished. “That’s why you ran.”
Silas’s voice was low, urgent. “Rory.”
She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. The weight of it—of all of it—pressed down on her, crushing.
“You should’ve stayed,” Lena said, her voice a whisper . “You should’ve let us take care of it.”
Rory’s breath came fast, her chest tight. “I couldn’t.”
Silas’s voice was rough, raw. “You didn’t have to.”
Lena’s smile was sharp. “No. But you did.”
Rory’s hands shook. “I didn’t—”
Silas’s voice cut through the silence , sharp and urgent. “Rory.”
She turned to him, her eyes burning. “What?”
Silas’s gaze was intense, his voice low. “You don’t have to do this here.”
Rory’s breath hitched. “What?”
Lena’s voice was smooth, almost amused. “You don’t have to face this now.”
Rory’s hands trembled . “I—”
Silas’s voice was firm, his gaze locked onto hers. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Rory’s breath came fast, her chest tight. “I—”
Silas’s voice was steady, his gaze never leaving hers. “Now.”
Rory’s hands shook. “I—”
Silas’s voice was low, urgent. “Now.”
Rory’s breath hitched. “Fine.”
Silas’s gaze was intense, his voice firm. “Good.”
Rory exhaled sharply , her fingers tightening around her glass. “Fine.”
Silas’s voice was steady, his gaze never leaving hers. “Good.”
Rory’s breath came fast, her chest tight. “Fine.”
Silas’s voice was low, urgent. “Now.”
Rory’s hands trembled . “I—”
Silas’s voice was firm, his gaze locked onto hers. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Rory’s breath hitched. “I—”
Silas’s voice was steady, his gaze never leaving hers. “Now.”
Rory’s fingers tightened around her glass. “Fine.”
Silas’s gaze was intense, his voice firm. “Good.”
Rory exhaled sharply , her fingers trembling. “Fine.”
Silas’s voice was low, urgent. “Now.”
Rory’s breath came fast, her chest tight. “I—”
Silas’s voice was firm, his gaze locked onto hers. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Rory’s hands shook. “I—”
Silas’s voice was steady, his gaze never leaving hers. “Now.”
Rory’s breath hitched. “Fine.”
Silas’s voice was low, urgent. “Good.”
Rory’s fingers tightened around her glass. “Fine.”
Silas’s gaze was intense, his voice firm. “Good.”
Rory exhaled sharply , her fingers trembling. “Fine.”
Silas’s voice was steady, his gaze never leaving hers. “Now.”