Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRQN2XZ6D24965FRTRHMWM

The bell above the door chimed once. A ribbon of cold air followed her inside. The green neon sign splashed her features in uneven light. Rory paused on the threshold, fingers brushing the small crescent scar at her wrist. Behind the bar, Silas leaned over a ragged map pinned to the wall. He traced a faded line with his knuckles, then snapped upright. A half-finished tumbler clattered against the counter. He planted his weight on the good leg, the limp barely visible in the loose stance. She removed her leather jacket, folded it over her arm. Emerging from behind the bar, he studied her. Bright blue eyes sharpened. Black hair curled at the nape, shorter than she’d worn it in Cardiff. She pressed her palm flat against the counter, the scar warm beneath calloused skin. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” His voice had lost none of its calm. She inhaled, let the scent of aged oak and tobacco drift past her. “Thought you closed early tonight.” He shoved the map aside. “Bar’s always open for you.” She risked a smile. Something tight around her chest loosened. “Last time I came by, I was still in uni. We were planning my moot court finals.” He tilted his head, tracing a line along his silver signet ring. “You never made those finals.” She shifted, exposed a tremor in her knuckles. “Family emergency.” He cocked an eyebrow, elbows resting on the polished wood. The green glow reflected off his neatly trimmed beard. She pointed to the empty stool. “Mind if I sit?” He lifted the corner of the counter. “Go ahead.” She slid onto the stool, leather creaking. He retrieved a bottle of bourbon, set it upright. No label. He poured a stiff measure, the whiskey slapping the glass with a dull echo. She stared at the amber liquid as though seeing it for the first time. He pushed it across to her. She pressed fingertips to the rim, pulled it closer. “It’s good.” He nodded. “Best in Soho.” Silence rolled between them. The distant jazz on the speakers felt too jaunty for the moment. She cleared her throat. “You look… older.” He laughed, a low rumble that didn’t reach his eyes. “I could say the same for you.” She traced a chipped tile on the floor. “I’ve been through a few storms.” He lifted the glass in a slow salute. “That you have.” She sipped, the burn eased a tight knot in her chest. Memory flickered—footsteps on cold dorm corridors, her knuckles white as she gripped the banister. The last time she’d left, she’d slammed the door on more than the university. He polished a glass, watched her over his shoulder. The green neon flickered above her head. Shadows pooled beneath her eyes. “I heard about Evan.” She flinched. He paused, glass halfway to the rack. She raised the tumbler. “He got what he deserved.” Her voice held neither triumph nor relief. He set down the glass—one careful step, invisible limp. “He hurt you.” She tilted her head, studied the scar at her wrist. “That was before I fled. You never knew him.” He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. “I knew enough.” She let the silence grow. Then: “Why didn’t you reach out?” He glanced at the photograph of Prague pinned beside the map—grainy shot of him in his prime, knee brace strapped tight. A botched operation. A loose wire severed more than a nerve. His hand hovered over the photo. “You were going your own way. I thought you needed space.” She met his gaze. “I needed someone to say ‘Stay.’” He swallowed. “I was afraid you’d hold on because of me, not for yourself.” She flicked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You always said I was too tough.” He pushed a coaster toward her. “You are. Tough carries a price.” She exhaled, shoulders rising and falling in a rhythm she barely felt. “Ever think about Cardiff?” He turned back to the bar. “Sometimes.” She folded her arms on the counter. “I left my life there. My father kept asking when I’d finish law school. My mother wrote letters I never answered. I thought running away would free me. Only thing that followed was guilt.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You built a new life here.” She shook her head. “Half a life. I work deliveries by day, ghost shifts in Golden Empress kitchen. I live in that flat upstairs.” She gestured at the low ceiling above the bar. “But nights like these, I feel I’m still hiding.” He placed a hand on the bar. “You’re safe here.” She raised her brow. “Safe?” He slid forward, face softer in the neon haze. “The Nest is more than a bar. It’s a sanctuary.” She cupped her glass. “Feels more like a cage.” He studied her wrist. Scar sharpened against her pale skin. “Cages keep you alive.” She stiffened. “Alive isn’t enough.” He placed a clean cloth on the counter, folded it precise. “What do you want, Aurora Carter?” She closed her eyes. Voiced the question she’d asked herself on every long delivery. “I want to stop running.” He met her gaze. “Then let someone in.” Her fingers trembled around the glass. She set it down in one swift move. The ice cracked. He leaned closer, voice low enough for no one else to catch. “You don’t have to face your demons alone.” She swallowed. The knot in her throat tightened. “I thought I did.” He straightened, stepped away. A moment’s hesitation crossed his face—a flicker of the man he’d been, striding through danger with guns drawn and secrets coded. He reached behind the bar, lifted a wooden panel. The bookshelf swung open, revealing the secret room beyond. He flicked a light inside. Warm glow spilled out. Maps, files, photos lined the walls. “C’mon,” he said. She rose, picked her jacket off the stool. She hesitated at the threshold. He offered a half-smile. “You taught me to think outside the box. Now it’s my turn to teach you.” She nodded, barely. He led her inside. The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the bar’s buzz. They stood amid fading photographs and coffee-stained dossiers. Rory let the door slip from her fingers. The lock snapped. Silas crossed to a desk cluttered with papers. He picked up a faded postcard of Cardiff Bay. Held it out. She let her hand hover above it, inches away. Time stretched between the city she’d abandoned and the man she’d nearly lost. She touched the edge. “My favourite spot.” He tucked the postcard into his jacket pocket. “Not anymore.” Her pulse surged. She met his gaze in the dim glow. “What now?” He leaned back against the desk. Limp hidden by the shadows. “We start again.” Silence settled around them, heavy yet alive. She met his slow grin, felt the weight of years tilt sideways, unravel in that room. She tilted her chin up. “All right.” He nodded once. No promises. Just the click of the lock and two friends facing what they’d left undone.