Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYMCWGVJB12HPB75S39ZQT

The green neon glow of the raven sign flickered against the wet London pavement as Aurora Carter pushed open the heavy oak door of The Raven's Nest. Raindrops clung to her straight black hair as she shrugged off her soaked jacket, the familiar scent of aged whiskey and polished wood washing over her like a memory. Behind the bar, a man with grey-streaked auburn hair looked up from the glass he was polishing. His hazel eyes widened almost imperceptibly, then narrowed in recognition. Aurora froze mid-step, one hand still on her jacket collar. "Silas?" His fingers stilled around the tumbler. "Laila." The old nickname hung between them like smoke. He hadn't called her that in seven years. She moved closer, taking in the lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before, the way his neatly trimmed beard now showed more grey than auburn. The silver signet ring on his right hand caught the dim light as he set the glass down. "I didn't know you were back in London." "Few months now." His voice carried the same quiet authority she remembered, but something beneath it had changed—rougher, like gravel underfoot. "You look well." Aurora slid onto a barstool, her fingers tracing the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist—a nervous habit she'd never broken. "You don't. You look tired." Silas raised an eyebrow but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he reached beneath the bar and produced a bottle of her favourite whiskey. "Drink?" She nodded, watching him pour with that same precision she recalled from her childhood, when he'd been her father's colleague, then her confidant after her parents' divorce. The walls around them were covered with old maps and black-and-white photographs, some new since she'd last been here, others hauntingly familiar. "Still collecting maps, I see." "Still collecting stories, you mean." He slid the glass toward her, their fingers brushing for a fraction of a second. "What brings you to my bar after all this time?" "I live upstairs now. Flat above." She took a sip, the warmth spreading through her chest. "Small world." "Smallest." Silas leaned against the back counter, favoring his left leg—the one with the old knee injury she'd only learned about years after it happened. "I heard about Cardiff. And Evan." Aurora's grip tightened on the glass. "Of course you did. You hear everything." "Not everything." His gaze drifted to the black-and-white photograph behind her—a younger version of himself standing in front of Prague Castle, arm in a sling. "Not nearly enough." The unspoken words hung between them, heavier than the London fog outside. He'd asked her to join him after his early retirement, offered her a job, a purpose. She'd chosen university instead, then Evan, then the life that had nearly broken her. "You never answered my letters." Her voice barely carried over the soft jazz playing from hidden speakers. Silas turned to wipe down the bar with a cloth, his movements methodical. "You never needed me to." "Everyone needs someone, Silas. Even you." She watched his shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. "What happened in Prague? The real story, not the official one." He set the cloth down and met her eyes directly for the first time since she'd entered. "Some truths are too heavy to carry, Aurora. Even for old friends." "Then share the weight." She reached across the bar, her fingers nearly touching his. "That's what friends do." Silas studied her face for a long moment, as if searching for the girl he'd known in the woman before him. "The operation wasn't botched. It was betrayed." Aurora leaned back, the implications settling in her mind like stones in water. "By who?" "The question is always who benefits." He tapped the silver signet ring on the bar, a nervous gesture she'd never seen him make before. "The same people who benefited from your father's sudden career change after that case in Belfast." Her breath caught in her throat. "My father was involved?" "Your father wanted out. They gave him an exit strategy. I took the fall." Silas's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Your safety was part of the deal." Aurora stared at the photograph of Prague, then back at Silas's weathered face. The weight of years pressed down on her—all the choices, all the paths not taken. "You sacrificed your career for mine?" "I made a choice. You made yours." He gestured around the bar. "We're both here now. That's something." She finished her whiskey in one swallow, the burn a welcome distraction from the ache in her chest. "I should have listened to you. About law school. About Evan. About everything." Silas poured her another drink without asking. "Regret is a luxury I can't afford. Neither can you." "Is that why you never contacted me? To spare me the luxury?" "To spare us both the lie that we could go back." He moved closer to her side of the bar, the limp in his left leg more pronounced now. "People change, Aurora. Cities change. The world changes." "But some things don't." She reached out and touched the photograph of Prague. "Like loyalty." Silas covered her hand with his, the silver signet ring cool against her skin. "Like regret." The jazz song ended, leaving only the sound of rain against the windows and the distant clink of glasses from the back room. For a moment, they were just two old friends in a dimly lit bar, the years between them stretching like the maps on the walls—full of destinations chosen and roads not traveled. Aurora pulled her hand away gently. "I should get upstairs. Early delivery tomorrow." Silas nodded, already moving back behind the bar. "The door to the back room is always open. If you ever need anything." "I know." She stood, pulling on her still-damp jacket. "It's good to see you, Silas." "You too, Laila." The old nickname again, softer this time. "Be careful out there." Aurora smiled faintly. "Always am." As she pushed open the heavy door and stepped back into the rainy London night, the green raven sign reflected in the puddles at her feet, she wondered how many years it would be before they spoke again, and who they would be by then.