Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXPE9SZ2G1KTTQ2ZVJJPEZ

The green neon sign above the door buzzed like a dying insect, casting a sickly pallor over the wet pavement of Soho. Rain slicked the cobblestones, reflecting the fractured lights of passing taxis. Aurora pushed through the heavy oak door of The Raven's Nest, shaking water from her black hair. The scent of stale beer, lemon polish, and old paper hit her immediately. She wiped her boots on the mat, leaving dark smears, and scanned the dim interior. Maps covered every inch of wall space, their yellowed parchment curling at the edges. Black-and-white photographs of men in suits and women with sharp eyes watched from beneath glass frames. She spotted him in the corner booth, the one tucked behind a stack of atlases. Silas Blackwood sat with his back to the wall, a habit drilled into him by decades of survival. His grey-streaked auburn hair caught the low light from the table lamp. He nursed a glass of amber liquid, his left leg stretched out slightly to accommodate the old knee injury. A silver signet ring glinted on his right hand as he traced the rim of the glass. Aurora froze. Ten years dissolved in a heartbeat. The last time she saw him, he stood straighter, his eyes brighter, before the Prague mission stripped pieces of him away. She approached the table, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs. Silas looked up. His hazel eyes widened, then narrowed. He didn't stand. The slight limp in his leg kept him anchored to the seat. "Rory," he said. The name tasted strange on his tongue, rough and unused. "Si." She slid into the booth opposite him. The leather creaked under her weight. "Didn't think you'd still be haunting this place." "Habits die harder than men." He signaled the bartender with a flick of his wrist. "What are you drinking?" "Nothing. I'm working." She gestured to the delivery bag slung over her shoulder, the logo of the Golden Empress restaurant faded but visible. "Yu-Fei needs these noodles hot. Traffic was a nightmare." "You look tired." "And you look like you've been carved out of driftwood." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the sticky table. "When did you stop shaving every day?" Silas touched his neatly trimmed beard. "Three years ago. Gives me something to do with my hands while I think." "You used to say facial hair was a security risk. Said it changed your silhouette too much." "People change their minds. People change entirely." He took a sip of his drink. The ice clinked against the glass. "I heard you left Cardiff. Your father mentioned it once, before he stopped calling." "Brendan talks too much when he's had a few." Aurora picked at a loose thread on her jacket sleeve. "London suited me better. Less expectation. More noise." "You were going to be a barrister. Top of your class at Cardiff University. Irish wit, Welsh stubbornness. The perfect combination for the courts." "And look at me now." She tapped the delivery bag. "I deliver noodles to drunkards in Shoreditch." "It pays the rent?" "It keeps me off the street. That's enough." Silas studied her face. The bright blue eyes that used to sparkle with ambition now held a flat, guarded stillness. A small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist peeked out from her sleeve, a relic of a childhood accident she used to laugh about. Now she kept her hand hidden. "Eva told me you ran," Silas said. "Said you packed a single bag and vanished." "Eva talks too much too." "She was worried." "She should have minded her own business." Aurora's voice sharpened. "I made a choice. Evan made it clear I wasn't welcome in my own life anymore. Leaving felt like breathing for the first time in years." Silas nodded slowly. "I know that feeling. The need to vanish." "But you didn't run, did you? You got hurt. You got pulled out of the game because your knee gave out in Prague." She gestured to his leg. "That's not running. That's being retired." "Semantics." He swirled the liquid in his glass. "I lost more than my mobility that day. I lost the belief that I could fix things. You? You ran to save yourself. There's honor in that." "There's no honor in delivering food while my degree gathers dust." "Honor doesn't keep the lights on. Survival does." Silas leaned forward, the wood of the booth groaning. "You think I don't see what you're doing? You're hiding. Just like I am. Only my hiding spot has better liquor." Aurora laughed, a short, brittle sound. "You always did see too much. Remember that time in secondary school? When I tried to cheat on the chemistry final? You knew before the teacher even caught me." "You left your notes in the bathroom. And you have a tell. You tap your thumb against your index finger when you're lying or scared." She stilled her hand. "Old habits." "Some things don't change." Silas watched her. "You still have that fire. It's just buried under layers of exhaustion and fear." "Fear keeps you alive, Si. You taught me that. Or did you forget?" "I remember." He took another drink, finishing the glass. "I remember teaching you how to pick a lock, how to spot a tail, how to lie without blinking. I thought you'd use those skills to dismantle corrupt corporations or defend the innocent in court. Not to dodge an ex-boyfriend and deliver takeout." "Life has a funny way of rerouting plans." Aurora reached for the water pitcher on the table and poured herself a glass. Her hand shook slightly. She set the glass down hard. "I didn't ask for a lecture. I just needed a place to wait out the rain before my next drop-off." "And I didn't ask for a ghost from my past to walk through my door and remind me of everything I failed to become." Silas rubbed his knee. The joint ached when the weather turned, a constant reminder of the botched operation. "Do you regret it? Leaving everything behind?" Aurora looked away, focusing on a map of the British Isles pinned to the wall. The lines of the counties blurred in the dim light. "Regret is a luxury I can't afford. I made a choice. I chose me. For the first time, I chose me over what everyone else wanted." "Even if it meant becoming someone you barely recognize?" "Especially then." She turned back to him. Her gaze was steady now. "Who I was wasn't working. Who I am... survives. That has to count for something." Silas reached across the table. His hand, rough and scarred, hovered near hers. He didn't touch her, just held his palm open. An offer. A bridge. "You're still Aurora Carter," he said. "Daughter of Brendan and Jennifer. The girl who argued her way out of detention three times in one term. The woman who saw through my cover story the first time we met." "That girl feels like a stranger." "Strangers can become friends again. It takes time." He withdrew his hand and signaled the bartender for another round. "Stay. Have a drink. Tell Yu-Fei the rain delayed you. She'll understand." Aurora hesitated. The delivery bag sat heavy on her lap. The rain hammered against the window, a relentless rhythm. Inside, the bar hummed with low conversations and the clink of glass. The weight of ten years pressed down on her shoulders, but for the first time in a long while, the air felt breathable. "One drink," she said. "Then I have to go. The noodles get soggy." Silas smiled, a genuine expression that cracked the weathered map of his face. "One drink. That's a start." The bartender arrived with a fresh glass for Silas and a bottle of lager for Aurora. She popped the cap, the foam rising to the rim. They clinked glasses, the sound sharp and clear in the quiet corner of The Raven's Nest. Outside, the city roared on, indifferent to the two old friends sitting in the dim light, navigating the treacherous waters of who they used to be and who they had become.