Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX2C053JW9JWGX3EPA63DE

The neon green sign of *The Raven’s Nest* flickered like a dying firefly against the damp Soho evening. Rory Carter pushed through the door, the scent of stale beer and old wood wrapping around her like a familiar coat. She’d been delivering Yu-Fei’s dumplings to the back alley when the rain started—fat, insistent drops that turned the pavement into a mirror. No point in getting soaked just to drop off a bag of takeaway. She shook the water from her jacket, the black fabric clinging to her shoulders. The bar was half-full, the usual mix of regulars and lost tourists. A jazz record spun lazily in the corner, the saxophone’s mournful notes curling through the air like smoke. Rory slid onto a stool at the far end of the counter, where the light was dimmest. Silas Blackwood looked up from polishing a glass. His hazel eyes locked onto hers for half a second before his expression shifted—just a flicker, like a candle in a draft. Then he set the glass down with deliberate care. “Rory.” She smirked. “Still got that spook’s memory, I see.” He didn’t smile back. Just reached for a bottle of whiskey, poured two fingers into a tumbler, and slid it across the bar. No ice. No chaser. Just the way she used to drink it. She wrapped her fingers around the glass, the cold biting into her skin. “You’re looking old, Si.” “And you’re looking like hell.” A laugh escaped her, sharp and unexpected. She took a sip, the whiskey burning all the way down. “Fair.” Silas leaned against the counter, arms crossed. The silver signet ring on his right hand caught the light. “Heard you were back in London.” “News travels fast.” “Not fast enough.” His voice was low, rough. “You could’ve come by.” She swirled the whiskey, watching the amber liquid cling to the sides of the glass. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.” A beat of silence. The jazz record scratched, the needle lifting before the next track dropped. Silas exhaled through his nose. “You always were a terrible liar.” Rory set the glass down. “I wasn’t lying. I just didn’t think you’d *care*.” His jaw tightened. “You know better than that.” She did. That was the problem. The years had carved themselves into the lines around his eyes, the silver threading through his auburn hair. But his posture was still the same—controlled, deliberate. Like he was always bracing for something. She wondered if he still had the limp, if the old knee injury flared up in the rain like hers did. “You look different,” he said finally. “So do you.” He didn’t press. Just waited. Rory traced a finger along the rim of her glass. “I left Cardiff. Moved in with Eva for a while.” “Evan?” The name hit like a punch to the gut. She didn’t flinch. “Not anymore.” Silas’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for her. But he didn’t. “Good.” She took another sip, the whiskey warming her throat. “You still running ops out of the back room?” A ghost of a smile. “Just a bar now.” “Bullshit.” He chuckled, low and rough. “Missed you, kid.” The words settled between them, heavy as the rain outside. Rory stared at her drink. “I missed you too.” Silas reached under the counter and pulled out a second glass. Poured himself a drink. “You staying?” She hesitated. “Depends.” “On?” “Whether you’re still the same man who taught me how to pick a lock.” He took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. “Some things don’t change.” The air between them hummed, thick with everything unsaid. The years, the distance, the way time had stretched and warped them both. Rory exhaled, her fingers tightening around the glass. “I need a favour.” Silas didn’t blink. “Name it.” She met his gaze. “I need to disappear.”