Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY87483EB1D9QW88FYGQT3G

The green neon sign of *The Raven’s Nest* flickered weakly against the London drizzle, its glow bleeding into the cobblestones like a bruise. Inside, the air smelled of aged whiskey and the faint, acrid tang of cigarette smoke—though no one had lit a cigarette in years. Aurora Carter, or Rory, as she still thought of herself when she was alone, leaned against the bar, nursing a glass of something amber and bitter. She hadn’t meant to come here. The address had slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it, a reflex from a time when she’d still believed in second chances. She wasn’t supposed to recognize him. But there he was, hunched over a stool three down, his back to her, the faintest limp in his left leg betraying the old injury she’d heard whispers about. Silas Blackwood. *The Spymaster.* The man who’d once been her father’s best friend, the one who’d pulled strings to get her into Oxford on a scholarship, who’d taught her how to pick a lock and lie without flinching. She’d been twelve. She should’ve known better than to think he’d still be here. Rory’s fingers tightened around her glass. The condensation had long since evaporated, leaving her palm damp. She could turn around. Walk away. But the way he moved—slow, deliberate, like he was carrying something heavier than just his own weight—made her stomach twist. She’d seen that gait before. In mirrors. In the way men walked after they’d done things they couldn’t undo. “You’re still here,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended. Silas didn’t turn. “Took you long enough.” The barkeep, a broad-shouldered man with a face like a bulldog, slid a fresh drink toward her without looking up. “You’re late,” he muttered. “He’s been waiting.” Rory exhaled through her nose. “I know.” She finally turned, and when she did, the world seemed to tilt. Silas was older, of course—his auburn hair now streaked with silver, his beard neatly trimmed, his hazel eyes sharper than she remembered. But it wasn’t just the years. It was the way he held himself. Like he was waiting for something to break. “Rory,” he said, his voice rough. He didn’t reach for her, didn’t offer the kind of hug she’d once expected from him. Instead, he gestured to the stool beside him. “Sit.” She hesitated. Then she did. The leather was worn, the wood of the bar scarred from decades of elbows and glasses. She could still smell the old maps and photographs—London, Prague, places she’d never been. Silas’s signet ring glinted on his right hand, the silver cold against his skin. “You look like hell,” he said. She laughed, sharp and brittle. “So do you.” A beat of silence. The hum of the bar filled the gap. “You’re still working for them, aren’t you?” she asked. His jaw tightened. “I retired.” “Bullshit.” He didn’t deny it. Just took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze flicking to the back corner of the room—the hidden bookshelf that led to the secret room, the one she’d never been allowed to see. The one that probably held secrets she didn’t want to know. “What are you doing here, Rory?” he asked. She should’ve lied. Should’ve said she was passing through, that she’d heard the food was good. But the truth had a way of slipping out when you least expected it. “I needed to see you.” His eyebrows lifted. “Why?” Because I thought you’d know what to do with me. Because I thought you’d still care. Because I was stupid enough to think some things didn’t change. She didn’t say any of that. Instead, she said, “Evan.” The name hung between them like a curse. Silas’s fingers tightened around his glass. “I heard.” “He’s dead.” Silas didn’t react. Just stared at his drink. “You didn’t come for that,” he said finally. She knew he was right. She’d come because she’d seen the way he looked at her—like she was a problem he’d never been able to solve. Like she was the one thing he’d failed at. “What happened to you?” she asked. His laugh was dry. “Me? I got old. Got a bar. Got tired of people dying.” “Bullshit.” He studied her, really studied her, the way he used to when she was a kid and she’d done something reckless. The way he could see right through her. “You’re not the same person,” he said. She bristled. “Neither are you.” “No,” he agreed. “But I still know how to play the game.” She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him she didn’t play games anymore. That she’d burned too many bridges, that she was just trying to survive. But the truth was, she still did. She still played. She just didn’t know how to win. Silas set his glass down. “You’re working for Yu-Fei now.” She blinked. “How do you—?” “London’s small. People talk.” “You talk to people.” He smirked. “Guilty.” She should’ve been offended. But she wasn’t. Because she knew the truth. He wasn’t just talking to people. He was listening. And if he was listening, that meant someone was talking. “What do you want, Rory?” he asked. She should’ve lied. Should’ve said she was just passing through, that she’d heard the food was good. But the truth had a way of slipping out when you least expected it. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Silas studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the bar toward her. “Take it,” he said. She didn’t touch it. “What is it?” “A name. An address. A problem.” She looked at it. At the neat, precise handwriting. At the way the ink had bled slightly at the edges, like it had been written in haste. “Why me?” “Because you’re good at this,” he said. “Because you always were.” She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him she wasn’t good at anything. That she was just a girl who’d run away and never looked back. But the truth was, she was. She was good at this. She just didn’t know if she was good enough. She took the paper. Silas’s gaze was steady. “You’ll find out.” She folded it carefully, tucking it into her pocket. “What happens if I say no?” He didn’t flinch. “Then you walk away. Like you always do.” She should’ve been relieved. Should’ve taken the offer and run. But she didn’t. Because for the first time in years, she felt like she might actually want to stay.