Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXHZSBX9Q5MX798JWBNS4N

The green neon sign above the door buzzed with a dying insect rhythm, casting a sickly pallor over the wet pavement of Soho. Aurora pushed through the heavy oak door of The Raven's Nest and shook the rain from her straight, shoulder-length black hair. The air inside smelled of stale beer, lemon polish, and old paper. Dim light filtered from brass sconces, illuminating walls papered with faded maps and black-and-white photographs of men in suits standing outside unmarked buildings. She moved toward the bar, her boots leaving damp prints on the floorboards. Behind the counter, a man wiped a glass with a rag that looked cleaner than the surface he cleaned. He paused when she approached. Hazel eyes locked onto bright blue ones. The rag stopped moving. Silas Blackwood set the glass down on the counter. The movement caused the light to catch the silver signet ring on his right hand. He leaned forward, resting his weight on his good leg. The left one stayed straight, the knee locked from an old injury. You look like your father. Aurora gripped the edge of the bar. Her fingers brushed the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. The wood felt rough under her fingertips. People say I look like my mother. Jennifer had the smile. Brendan had the stare. You have the stare. Silas reached for a bottle of whiskey and poured two fingers into a tumbler. He slid it across the wood. The liquid settled, amber against the dark grain. Aurora did not touch the glass. She watched the condensation form on the outside. Eva told me you were here. Eva talks too much. She said you could help. Silas picked up his own glass and took a sip. The ice clinked against his teeth. He set it down with a solid thud. Help implies there is something to fix. Most things break beyond repair, Aurora. She turned her wrist over, exposing the pale skin and the mark there. The light from the neon sign outside flickered through the window, painting a green stripe across her hand. I left Cardiff. I heard. I left everything. Silas stepped around the end of the bar. He moved with a slight hitch in his stride, the limp more pronounced when he walked on the hard floor. He stopped a foot away from her. The grey streaks in his auburn beard caught the low light. He looked older than the photographs on the wall, yet the same authority radiated from him. You walked away from a law degree. You walked away from a family home. You walked away from a man who hurt you. Aurora flinched. The air in the room grew heavy. A clock ticked somewhere in the back, near the bookshelf that looked slightly out of place against the brickwork. I survived. Survival costs interest. You pay it every day you wake up and remember why you ran. She picked up the whiskey. The glass felt cold against her palm. She took a sip. The burn traveled down her throat and settled in her chest. I didn't think you'd remember me. We haven't spoken since I was twelve. I remember the Carter family. Brendan owed me a favor. He's not here to call it in. No. He is in Cardiff. You are in London. Silas reached out and tapped the counter with his index finger. The silver ring made a dull sound against the wood. You want a job? You want a place to stay? Or do you want revenge? Aurora set the glass down. She met his gaze. The blue of her eyes stood out in the dim room. I want to disappear. Disappearing requires money. It requires new documents. It requires you to stop being Aurora Carter. I know. Do you? You walk in here wearing your own face. You drink whiskey like your father. You touch your wrist when you lie. She pulled her hand away from the scar. Her fingers curled into a fist. I'm not lying. You want to disappear, but you want to be found by the right people. You want safety without solitude. Silas turned and looked at the wall of photographs. One picture showed a street in Prague, blurred by motion and rain. He stared at it for a long moment. I retired from this life. The Raven's Nest is a bar. It is not a safe house. Eva said you run things. Eva sees what she wants to see. She said you know people. I know people who ask questions. I know people who take things. I know people who make problems go away. None of them are friends. Aurora stepped closer. The scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of the whiskey. It smelled like sandalwood and smoke. I'm not asking for a friend. I'm asking for a chance. Silas turned back to her. He studied her face, tracing the line of her jaw and the set of her shoulders. He looked at the damp hem of her coat and the mud on her boots. You look tired. I haven't slept in two days. Sleep clouds judgment. I don't need judgment. I need a roof. Silas walked back behind the bar. He picked up the rag and resumed wiping the glass he had cleaned earlier. The circular motion was rhythmic, hypnotic. There is a flat above the bar. It sits empty. The rent is high. I can work. You have no references. You have no history in London. You have a target on your back from a man who knows where you were born. I can learn. You will deliver food. Yu-Fei Cheung owns the Golden Empress down the street. She owes me. You will wear a uniform. You will keep your head down. You will not speak to customers. Aurora nodded. The movement was stiff. And the flat? You clean it. You fix the lock on the door. You stay out of the back room. She glanced at the bookshelf behind him. The shadows there seemed deeper than the rest of the room. What's in the back room? Nothing you need to see. Silas stopped wiping the glass. He held it up to the light, inspecting it for smudges. The hazel eyes narrowed. If you stay here, you follow my rules. You do not bring people here. You do not ask about my past. You do not use the name Carter outside these walls. Understood. If you break a rule, you leave. If you bring trouble to my door, I will handle it. You will not like how I handle it. Aurora took another drink of the whiskey. The heat grounded her. She looked at the scar on her wrist again, then covered it with her sleeve. I won't bring trouble. Trouble finds us. It does not need an invitation. Silas placed the clean glass on the rack. He leaned against the counter again, the limp settling into a static tension in his leg. Why London? It's big. Easy to get lost. Cardiff is small. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone knows who I was there. Here, I'm just another face in the crowd. Silas reached under the counter and pulled out a set of keys. He held them by the ring, letting them dangle. The metal caught the light. Take these. Don't lose them. Aurora reached out. Her fingers brushed the cold metal. She closed her hand around them. Thank you. Don't thank me. This is a transaction. You work. You pay. You stay quiet. She pocketed the keys. The weight of them settled against her hip. What do I call you? Silas. Just Silas? Just Silas. Aurora finished the whiskey. She set the empty glass on the counter. The sound echoed in the quiet bar. I should go up. See the flat. It's unlocked. Silas turned away from her. He began organizing the bottles on the shelf behind him, aligning the labels with precise movements. Aurora stood there for a moment. She watched the muscles in his back shift under his shirt. The grey streaks in his hair looked like ash in the dim light. You didn't ask what happened. Silas paused. His hand hovered over a bottle of gin. I know what happens. Men like Evan think they own things. Women like you realize they don't. He turned his head slightly. The profile was sharp against the shadows. Go upstairs. Lock the door. Sleep. Tomorrow you start at the Golden Empress. Aurora turned toward the door behind the bar. The stairs led up into darkness. She placed her foot on the first step. The wood creaked. Silas. He did not turn around. He picked up the gin bottle and checked the level. Yes. If he comes here? Silas set the bottle down. He picked up the rag again. Then we deal with it. Aurora climbed the second step. The light from the bar faded as she ascended. The smell of old paper and lemon polish lingered in the air. She stopped on the landing and looked back down. Silas stood behind the bar, a solitary figure under the brass lights. He wiped the same spot on the counter, over and over. She turned and continued up the stairs. The keys jingled in her pocket. The sound was loud in the stairwell. She reached the top landing and found the door. It was painted black, the paint chipped around the handle. She inserted the key. The lock turned with a heavy click. Inside, the flat smelled of dust and stale air. Moonlight filtered through the window, illuminating floating particles. Aurora walked to the window and looked down at the street. The green neon sign of The Raven's Nest buzzed below. A car passed, headlights sweeping across the walls. She touched the scar on her wrist again. The skin felt smooth under her thumb. Downstairs, the music started. A low jazz track played from a record player. The sound vibrated through the floorboards. Aurora walked to the center of the room. She dropped her bag on the floor. The zipper sounded loud in the silence. She stood still and listened to the music. The saxophone wailed, a lonely sound in the empty room. She walked to the door and locked it. She tested the handle. It held. She walked back to the window and looked out at the London skyline. The rain had stopped. The clouds parted slightly, revealing a sliver of moon. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. The screen lit up with a message from an unknown number. Welcome to London. Aurora stared at the screen. The backlight illuminated her face. She typed a reply, then deleted it. She put the phone face down on the windowsill. Downstairs, the music changed tempo. The saxophone faded, replaced by the sound of glasses clinking. People were arriving. The bar was opening for the night. Aurora turned away from the window. She walked toward the small kitchen area. The tap dripped. She tightened it. The dripping stopped. She opened a cupboard. It was empty. She closed it. She walked back to the center of the room and stood there. The floorboards creaked under her weight. She listened to the sounds of the bar below. Voices murmured. Ice cracked in glasses. Silas moved around down there, a ghost in the machine. Aurora sat on the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees. The scar on her wrist pressed against her leg. The music continued. The night stretched out ahead, long and uncertain. She closed her eyes and listened to the rhythm of the bar below. It sounded like a heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Alive.