Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXGK1KCRT8WM84RRFRY57R

The Raven's Nest smelled of aged whiskey and polished wood. Aurora wiped her damp palms against her jeans before pushing through the heavy oak door. The green neon sign buzzed overhead, casting an eerie glow on the wet pavement behind her. She spotted him immediately. Silas stood behind the bar, polishing a glass with the same meticulous care he'd once used to clean his service pistol. His silver signet ring caught the dim light as he worked. Three years hadn't changed his posture—still straight-backed, still watching the room without seeming to look. "Didn't think you'd show." Silas didn't glance up as she slid onto the stool. "You called." Aurora tapped her fingers against the mahogany. The crescent scar on her wrist caught the light when she reached for the tumbler he slid toward her. Silas finally looked at her. His hazel eyes narrowed. "You cut your hair." She touched the ends that now brushed her shoulders. "Needed a change." "That all you changed?" He poured two fingers of bourbon—the good stuff he kept under the counter. The first sip burned. Aurora exhaled through her nose. "You still limp." Silas rubbed his knee absently. "Some things stick with you." He leaned forward, elbows on the bar. "Cardiff let you go just like that?" "I didn't ask permission." The ice in her glass cracked. Down the bar, a couple laughed too loud. Silas waited, the way he used to during debriefings—patient, giving nothing away. Aurora traced the water ring left by her glass. "Evan's in prison." Silas' knuckles whitened around his tumbler. "Should've called me when it happened." "And what? You'd have sent one of your shadows to break his legs?" "I'd have done it myself." The raw edge in his voice made her look up. Silas had aged—more grey in his auburn hair, deeper lines around his eyes. But the anger in his gaze was familiar. She swallowed the rest of her drink. "It's handled." "Handled." Silas scoffed. "You were pre-law. Top of your class. Now you're delivering noodles in the rain." "The Golden Empress pays better than your bar." "Don't deflect." He snatched her empty glass and refilled it. "What happened to Rory Carter?" The name landed like a punch. Aurora flexed her fingers, remembering the weight of law textbooks, the sting of Evan's backhand, the bus ticket to London crumpled in her fist. "She grew up." Aurora met his gaze. "You used to say that's what happens in our line of work." Silas exhaled sharply through his nose. "I trained you to disappear, not self-destruct." A group of tourists stumbled in, shaking rain from their coats. Silas didn't look away from her face. Aurora watched the bourbon swirl in her glass. "You ever miss it? The game?" "Every damn day." His thumb brushed the rim of his signet ring. "But retirement suits me." "Liar." Silas chuckled, low and rough. "Still sharp as ever." He leaned closer. "You could come back in. Properly this time." She shook her head. "Not my world anymore." "Bullshit." He tapped the bar with two fingers—their old signal for _truth incoming_. "You're still wired for it. I see it in how you scan the room, how you hold your glass. Like it might be a weapon." Aurora stiffened. Silas smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Told you. Some things stick." The couple at the end of the bar stood to leave, their laughter fading into the hum of traffic outside. Aurora studied the maps on the walls—old operations, marked in Silas' precise hand. "You ever regret it?" she asked quietly. "All the lies?" Silas poured himself another drink. "Every lie I told kept someone alive. Including you." The ice in her glass had melted. Aurora pushed it away. "I should go. Yu-Fei needs the van back by ten." Silas caught her wrist as she stood. His grip was warm, the calluses familiar. "You know where to find me." She hesitated, then squeezed his hand once before letting go. The door swung shut behind her, cutting off the scent of whiskey and the weight of all the things they hadn't said.