Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYX5Q6CYS9YAB94R3F4SFJ

The green neon sign above the door 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 through the heavy oak door of The Raven's Nest, shaking water from her black hair. The scent of stale ale, lemon polish, and old paper hit her instantly. She wiped her boots on the mat, her bright blue eyes scanning the dim interior. Maps covered the walls, their yellowed edges curling in the humidity, alongside black-and-white photographs of faces long forgotten by the rest of London. Silas stood behind the bar, polishing a tumbler with a rag that looked cleaner than the glass itself. His grey-streaked auburn hair caught the low light as he tilted his head. The limp in his left leg was less pronounced when he stood still, but the way he shifted his weight betrayed the old knee injury. He wore his silver signet ring on his right hand, the metal gleaming against the dark wood of the counter. "You're late," Silas said, setting the glass down. "Or early. Depends on whether you're delivering or hiding." Aurora approached the bar, pulling her damp jacket tighter around her shoulders. "Neither. Just needed somewhere dry." Silas poured a measure of amber liquid without asking. He slid it across the polished surface. The glass stopped inches from her fingers. "Cardiff rain follows you even here," he noted. "Cardiff feels like a different planet," Aurora replied. She wrapped her hands around the glass, letting the warmth seep into her palms. A small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist peeked out from her sleeve. "Been a while, Si." "Seven years, three months, and fourteen days." Silas leaned against the back shelf, crossing his arms. His hazel eyes fixed on her face, tracing the lines that hadn't been there before. "You cut your hair." "It got in the way." "It suited you long. Made you look like your mother." Aurora took a sip. The whiskey burned, sharp and clean. "Jennifer wouldn't recognize me now. Neither would Brendan." "They'd see the same stubborn set to your jaw." Silas reached for a bottle of bitters, adding two precise drops to his own drink. "I heard you left law school." "Fled is more accurate." "Same thing, different packaging." Aurora traced the rim of her glass. "I couldn't do it. The arguments, the posturing, the way they twist truth until it breaks. Reminded me too much of home." "And Evan?" The name hung in the air, heavier than the smoke that used to fill rooms like this. Aurora's grip tightened on the glass. "Gone," she said. "Left him in London. Moved flats. Changed my number. Changed my name on the delivery app." "Laila," Silas tested the alias. "Fits better than Aurora sometimes. Less... exposed." "Rory works for friends. Laila works for strangers." Silas nodded slowly. He walked around the end of the bar, his limp clicking softly against the floorboards. He stopped beside her, close enough that she could smell the tobacco on his coat, though he hadn't smoked in years. "You look tired, Rory." "Work keeps me busy. Golden Empress has a lunch rush that never ends. Yu-Fei expects the dumplings hot, the noodles fast, and the driver invisible." "Invisible is good. Invisible keeps you safe." "Does it?" Aurora turned to face him. "You taught me that. Hide in plain sight. Blend into the background. But after a while, you forget how to step forward." Silas looked away, his gaze drifting to a photograph on the wall. It showed a group of men in Prague, standing outside a café. One of them stood slightly apart, younger, with both legs straight. "I didn't teach you to hide forever," Silas said. "I taught you to survive until the threat passed." "The threat passes. The hiding sticks." A silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant wail of a siren. The tension wasn't hostile; it was the weight of unsaid things, of paths diverged and bridges burned. "You could have called," Silas said, his voice low. "And say what? 'Hi Si, I messed up my life, ran from a man who made me feel small, and now I deliver food to people who don't tip'?" "I would have listened." "You would have tried to fix it. You fix things, Silas. That's what you do. But some things aren't broken pieces to be glued back together. They're just... gone." Silas turned back to her. The quiet authority he carried seemed to falter, just for a second. A flicker of regret crossed his features, softening the hard lines around his eyes. "I should have come to Cardiff," he admitted. "When you first called Eva. I should have gotten on a train." "You were busy." "Busy is an excuse cowards use." Silas tapped his signet ring against the bar top. "I thought you needed space. Thought I'd interfere. Old habits. Assess the situation, maintain distance, protect the asset." "I wasn't an asset, Si. I was your friend's daughter." "I know." The words came out rough. "I know that now. Too late, perhaps." Aurora finished her drink and set the glass down with a firm clink. "Time does that. Makes everything too late." "Not everything." Silas reached under the counter and pulled out a key. He placed it on the bar between them. "Flat above the bar. Vacant since last Tuesday. Tenant moved to Manchester." Aurora stared at the key. Brass, worn smooth by use. "I can't afford this place," she said. "Rent is flexible. Payment in company. Or silence. Whatever you prefer." "Why?" "Because you're here," Silas said simply. "Because you walked through that door instead of keeping walking. Because I spent seven years telling myself I gave you what you needed, and seeing you standing there, looking at me like I'm a stranger, proves I was wrong." Aurora picked up the key. The metal felt warm from his hand. She looked at the scar on her wrist, then up at Silas. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes held a question he wouldn't ask aloud. "The flat has a leak in the bathroom," Silas added, breaking the intensity. "And the neighbours play drums at odd hours. Terrible rhythm." Aurora let out a short laugh, surprising herself. "Sounds perfect." "Yufei's orders start at six tomorrow. You'll need to be up early." "I'm always up early." "I remember." Silas picked up his rag again, resuming his polishing. The moment of vulnerability sealed over, replaced by the familiar routine of the bar owner. "Don't let the rain soak your boots again. Wood warps." Aurora pocketed the key. She adjusted her jacket, feeling the weight of it settle differently against her side. "Thanks, Si." "Door locks at two," he said, not looking up. "Use the side entrance if you're late. Main bell wakes the whole street." "Wouldn't want that." Aurora turned toward the exit. The green neon sign still buzzed outside, casting its eerie glow on the wet street. She paused at the threshold, looking back at the man behind the bar. He stood straighter now, the limp less apparent in the shadows. "See you tomorrow," she said. Silas raised his glass in a silent toast. "Count on it." Aurora stepped out into the rain, the door clicking shut behind her. The city noises rushed back in, louder than before, but the cold didn't bite quite as deep.