Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXT45R98KKPW9TE9ACENPM

The green neon sign above the entrance buzzed with a dying insect's rhythm, casting a sickly pallor over the wet pavement of Soho. Rain slicked the cobblestones, reflecting the fractured lights of passing taxis. Aurora pushed open the heavy oak door of The Raven's Nest, shaking water from her black hair before the smell of stale beer, lemon oil, and old tobacco wrapped around her. She scanned the room, her bright blue eyes adjusting to the dim interior where walls lined with faded maps and grainy black-and-white photographs seemed to lean inward. Silas stood behind the polished bar, polishing a glass with a rag that looked cleaner than most tablecloths in the city. His grey-streaked auburn hair caught the low light as he turned, the neat beard framing a mouth that rarely smiled. A slight limp marked his movement as he shifted weight off his left leg, the old Prague injury making its presence known in the quiet shuffle of his boots. He paused, the glass hovering mid-air, his hazel eyes locking onto the woman standing in the doorway. "You're blocking the draft," Silas said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the jazz playing softly from a corner speaker. "And you're dripping on my floorboards." Aurora stepped forward, water pooling around her trainers. She offered a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Evening, Si. Some things never change. Still playing the grumpy host?" "The rent doesn't pay itself, Rory." He set the glass down with a sharp clink. "I haven't seen you in three years. Not since you packed your life into two suitcases and vanished up to this flat above me." "Time flies when you're running away." She approached the bar, leaning her elbows on the dark wood. The crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist peeked out from her sleeve, a pale moon against her skin. "Pour me something that burns. Nothing fancy." Silas reached for a bottle of amber liquid, his silver signet ring glinting on his right hand as he poured a generous measure into a tumbler. He slid it across the surface. "You look different." "Do I?" Aurora wrapped her hands around the glass, absorbing the warmth. "Older?" "Tired." Silas leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar. The movement brought the scent of sandalwood and gun oil—a phantom smell from his past life that never quite washed off. "The girl who used to argue constitutional law with me until sunrise didn't carry her shoulders like she expected the ceiling to collapse." "The girl who argued constitutional law is dead, Si. She died in Cardiff." Aurora took a long swallow, the whiskey biting her throat. "This one delivers noodles for Yu-Fei and tries not to think about tomorrow." "Yu-Fei treats you well?" "She pays me. That's enough." Aurora traced the rim of her glass. "How's the spy game? Still saving the world from behind a pint pump?" Silas let out a short, dry laugh. "The only thing I save these days is the bottom shelf whiskey from students who think they're tough. The field retired me, remember? Knee gave out. Mind followed shortly after." "You never retired from anything in your life. You just changed uniforms." Aurora looked up, her gaze piercing. "I saw the news last week. The Prague file leak. They mentioned a consultant." Silas stiffened, his hand pausing on a nearby bottle. "Rumours. Bad ones." "People don't leak rumours about specific operational details, Silas. They leak facts." She swirled the liquid in her glass. "You're still in it. Just deeper in the shadows." "And you're still observant. A dangerous trait for a delivery driver." Silas moved away from the bar, limping toward a stool near the end where the light was poorest. He gestured for her to follow. "Sit. Before you fall over from exhaustion." Aurora hesitated, then walked over, the stool creaking under her weight. She watched him settle, the careful way he positioned his injured leg. "Why did you never come up? In three years, Si. You live below me. You check the locks on my door twice a week. But you never knocked for a cup of tea." "You needed space." Silas stared at a photograph on the wall—a blurred image of a bridge in Vienna. "You left Evan. You left your family. You left the law. You wanted to be nobody. I respected that." "Did you?" Aurora's voice sharpened. "Or did you just watch from the sidelines like it was one of your operations? Wait for the asset to stabilize before making contact?" "Don't twist this." Silas turned to face her, his expression hardening. "I gave you a roof. I gave you a job reference when Yu-Fei asked. I kept my mouth shut when your father called looking for you." "My father called?" Aurora's grip tightened on the glass, knuckles whitening. "When?" "Six months after you arrived. Then again last Christmas." Silas watched her closely. "He sounded... broken, Rory. Your mother too. They think you're dead." "They think what I want them to think is easier than the truth." Aurora looked down at her hands. "Evan would have found me if I went home. He has friends in the force. You know how it works." "I know how it works better than most." Silas reached out, his hand hovering near her arm before pulling back. "But isolation isn't protection. It's a cage. You've built a very pretty cage for yourself up there. Delivery routes. Late shifts. Silence." "It keeps me alive." "Does it?" Silas leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Look at you. You flinch when the door opens. You scan exits before you sit down. You drink whiskey like it's water. That isn't living, Rory. That's surviving. And there's a difference." Aurora slammed the glass down, liquid sloshing over the rim. "What do you want from me? An apology for not being the happy law student you remembered? That girl got beaten down an alleyway behind a club in London because she trusted the wrong man. She doesn't exist anymore." "I don't want the girl from Cardiff." Silas's eyes held a depth of sorrow that surprised her. "I want my friend. The one who could talk her way out of a speeding ticket and make me laugh until my sides hurt. I miss her." The admission hung in the air, heavy and raw. The jazz track ended, replaced by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant wail of a siren outside. Aurora looked at Silas, really looked at him, seeing the lines around his eyes that hadn't been there five years ago, the grey that had claimed more of his hair. Time had taken its toll on him too, though he wore it with more dignity. "I'm not sure I know how to be her anymore," Aurora whispered, the anger draining out of her, leaving only exhaustion. "I forgot how." "You don't forget." Silas signaled to the bar, pouring himself a small measure of the same whiskey. He didn't offer it to her this time; he just held it. "You bury it. Under layers of fear and routine. But it's still there." "Eva tries," Aurora said, thinking of the friend who had urged her to flee. "She calls. I don't always answer." "Because answering means admitting you're still here. Still human." Silas took a sip. "Regret is a heavy thing to carry alone, Rory. It doubles in weight every year you leave it unchecked." "I didn't have a choice." "We always have a choice." Silas tapped his signet ring against the glass. "Even when the options are all terrible. You chose safety over connection. I chose silence over interference. Look where it got us." Aurora traced the small scar on her wrist again, the memory of the childhood accident surfacing unbidden. A fall from a tree. A father rushing to help. A time when pain meant comfort was coming, not more pain. "I'm scared, Si." "I know." Silas nodded slowly. "I've been scared since Prague. Every day. You learn to walk with it. You don't let it drive." The door to the bar opened, a gust of cold wind swirling through the room along with a couple of tourists seeking shelter from the rain. Silas straightened automatically, his posture shifting into something more alert, more authoritative. The moment of vulnerability snapped shut like a trap. "Right," Silas said, his voice returning to its usual brisk tone, though his eyes remained soft. "Shift starts in twenty minutes for the dinner rush. Yu-Fei will have your head if you're late delivering those dumplings to Shoreditch." Aurora stood up, the stool scraping against the floor. She finished her drink in one go, the heat spreading through her chest. "Yeah. Can't keep the customers waiting." "Rory." Silas stopped her before she could turn away. "The flat above. The door is unlocked. Always has been. If you ever want to come down for more than just a drink... or if you want to stop hiding... the offer stands. No conditions." Aurora paused, her hand on the door handle. She looked back at him, the green neon light from outside casting long shadows across his face. For a second, the mask slipped, and she saw the old Silas, the mentor who had taught her how to spot a tail and how to trust her gut. "Thanks, Si," she said, her voice rough. "I'll think about it." "Think fast," Silas replied, turning back to wipe down the counter. "Time doesn't wait for anyone." Aurora pushed out into the rain, the cold hitting her face like a slap. She pulled her collar up, checking the street left and right out of habit, then started walking toward the bike parked under the awning. Behind her, through the fogged window, she saw Silas watching, a solitary figure in a room full of ghosts, before he turned away to serve the next customer.