AI The distinctive green neon sign above the entrance of The Raven's Nest buzzed with an erratic electrical hum, casting a sickly, rhythmic glow through the rain-streaked window. Inside, the bar offered a dimly lit sanctuary from the damp chill of Soho. The walls, crowded with framed black-and-white photographs and faded geographical maps, seemed to absorb the quiet blues murmuring from the corner jukebox.
Aurora Carter sat on the furthest stool near the end of the mahogany bar, her straight shoulder-length black hair still slightly damp from the evening downpour. The scent of roasted duck and ginger lingered on her worn windbreaker, a stubborn reminder of her closing shift delivering orders for Yu-Fei Cheung at the Golden Empress. She traced the rim of her water glass, the pad of her thumb brushing against the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. It was an old souvenir from a childhood tumble off a stone wall in Wales, long before her life had fractured into before and after.
Behind the bar, Silas Blackwood moved with quiet, deliberate authority. He wiped down the polished wood, his left leg dragging slightly with the familiar limp of a badly healed knee. His auburn hair and neatly trimmed beard, both heavily streaked with grey, caught the dim amber light. When he reached for a bottle on the top shelf, the heavy silver signet ring on his right hand clinked softly against the glass. He poured a measure of whiskey, sliding it silently toward Aurora. She offered him a small nod of gratitude.
The brass bell above the heavy oak door chimed. The damp draft of the London street swept in, bringing with it a man brushing rainwater from the shoulders of a bespoke charcoal suit. He looked entirely out of place among the scuffed floorboards and shadows of the Nest. He turned toward the bar, briefcase in hand, shaking his umbrella before his gaze caught on the solitary young woman at the end of the counter.
He froze. His brow furrowed, scanning the bright blue of her eyes, the familiar line of her jaw, the relaxed but guarded way she held herself.
Aurora. The name broke from his lips, hanging in the quiet space between the jukebox notes.
Aurora went still. No one in London called her that. To Silas, to Yu-Fei, to Eva, she was Rory. Aurora belonged to a different lifetime, a different city, a different girl. She recognized him instantly. Liam Gallagher. They had sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the cavernous lecture halls at Cardiff University, both gunning for the top spot in their Pre-Law cohort.
Liam. She kept her voice even, though a cold stone of memory dropped in her stomach . What a surprise.
He moved toward her slowly , as if approaching an apparition . He took the empty stool beside her, placing his wet leather briefcase gently on the floor. He looked at her windbreaker, noting the grease-smudged emblem of the Golden Empress on her breast pocket. The confusion in his expression was immediate and poorly concealed.
I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, Liam said, leaning in. It has been years. You just vanished.
Not entirely, Aurora said, her tone cool and practiced. I am right here.
Silas approached, his hazel eyes locking onto Liam with a distinctly measuring weight . Can I get you something, friend?
A gin and tonic, Liam said, barely looking at the older man. Silas nodded once, his face an unreadable mask, and turned to prepare the drink, his uneven gait tapping a slow rhythm against the floorboards.
Liam turned back to her, his gaze sweeping over her face. We all wondered what happened. One week you were securing the top clerkship in the department, the next, your flat was empty. Brendan was out of his mind.
Aurora flinched internally at the mention of her father. Brendan Carter, the esteemed Irish barrister who expected nothing less than a mirror image of his own success from his daughter. He was disappointed , she corrected quietly. Do not mistake rage for grief.
He was worried about you, Aurora. We all were. Liam leaned forward, his voice taking on the practiced, persuasive cadence of the courtroom. You had the finest legal mind of anyone in our year. You could think your way out of corners the rest of us did not even see . And you traded it for... what? He gestured vaguely toward her windbreaker. Chinese food delivery in Soho?
I work for a friend, Aurora said. She looked past him, her eyes drifting toward the heavy bookshelf at the back of the room. Behind the dusty leather spines lay Silas clandestine back room, a hub of secrets and whispered operations that made the courtroom dramas of Cardiff look like childs play. It was a life built on quick, out-of-the-box thinking, the exact trait Liam was currently mourning. But Liam saw only the surface. He saw a dropout.
A heavy, suffocating silence settled between them. Silas returned, setting the highball glass in front of Liam. The ice cracked sharply , a sound that made Aurora blink at a sudden, intrusive memory of glass shattering against a wall. Evan. The memory of her abusive ex-boyfriend rose unbidden, a phantom bruise throbbing beneath her ribs. Liam did not know about Evan. None of the Pre-Law crowd did. They only knew the polished, brilliant Aurora. They did not know what it felt like to be trapped in your own home, analyzing your partners shifting moods with a terrifying, desperate clarity just to survive the night.
They did not know that her flight to London, orchestrated by her childhood friend Eva, was not a surrender. It was the absolute smartest thing she had ever done.
I changed my mind about the law, Aurora said, her voice steady and completely devoid of the defensiveness Liam seemed to expect. I found the arguments tedious.
You found the arguments tedious. Liam let out a short, incredulous laugh. Aurora, you were born for the arguments. Your mother even told me you once negotiated your bedtime like a hostage treaty. Jennifer was devastated when you stopped returning her calls.
My mother understands why I needed space, Aurora said sharply , drawing a boundary neither of them could ignore.
Liam took a long drink of his gin, the ice clinking against his teeth. He looked around the bar, his lip curling slightly at the peeling edges of a map of old London tacked to the wall. He did not see the history in the room, nor did he see the intricate network of spies, fixers, and thieves who sought refuge beneath its roof. He saw a dive.
Do you ever regret it? Liam asked softly , the pity in his voice thick enough to choke on. Throwing it all away?
Aurora looked down at her hands. She thought of Evan's heavy footsteps on the stairs back in Cardiff. She thought of the hollow, frantic girl who had boarded a train to London with nothing but a duffel bag and a bruised jaw. Then she looked up, her bright blue eyes meeting Liams soft, untroubled gaze. She felt the heavy, comforting presence of Silas standing a few feet away, polishing a glass, giving her space but ready to intervene if a single word fell wrong. She thought of her small, safe flat directly upstairs, and to the chaotic but honest labor at the restaurant.
I gave up a clear path, Aurora said, her voice dropping to a quiet intensity . But I did not throw anything away, Liam. I kept the only thing that actually belonged to me.
Liam stared at her, struggling to parse the fierce, unapologetic truth in her expression. The girl he knew would have debated him. She would have cited case law to defend her choices. The woman sitting before him simply did not care what he thought. The realization seemed to unsettle him more than her sudden disappearance ever had.
He dug into his chest pocket, retrieving a crisp ivory business card, and slid it across the damp wood of the bar.
If you ever want to come back, he said, his voice stripped of its earlier confidence. Or if you need anything. A recommendation. A loan. Just call me. We miss you, Aurora.
She did not reach for the card. Thank you, Liam. Have a safe walk back to the tube.
He lingered for a moment, as if waiting for a final, redeeming confession . When none came, he closed his briefcase, nodded a stiff farewell to Silas, and walked back out into the London rain. The door clicked shut, the brass bell ringing a final, solemn note.
The bar settled back into its comfortable gloom . The neon sign buzzed. Aurora reached out and flicked the stiff ivory card with her thumbnail, sending it spinning slowly across the polished mahogany.
Silas stepped forward. His calloused hand stopped the gently spinning card. He glanced at the embossed, gilded letters, then looked down at Aurora.
An old ghost? Silas asked, his gravelly voice entirely lacking its usual sharp edge.
Someone who knew Aurora Carter, she replied, picking up her whiskey and savoring the smoky burn on her tongue.
Silas swept the card off the bar, tossing it effortlessly into the small waste bin beneath the counter. Good thing she does not live here anymore, he murmured, limping back down the length of the bar to change the record on the jukebox.
Aurora smiled, the tight knot in her chest finally dissolving into the shadows of the room. She listened to the rain lashing against the window, safe inside the Nest, and let the old world wash away.