Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA6KH6C8TS7KYFGTKJ7GY1

The green neon sign flickered above the entrance to The Raven's Nest, casting erratic shadows on the rain-slicked pavement of Soho. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of aged whiskey and polished oak. Silas Blackwood leaned against the bar, his silver signet ring tapping a slow rhythm on the wood as he wiped down a glass. His hazel eyes scanned the room out of habit, noting the cluster of regulars nursing pints in the dim light. Maps on the walls whispered of forgotten borders, black-and-white photos capturing faces long erased by time. The door creaked open, letting in a draft that stirred the dust. A woman stepped in, shaking droplets from her straight black hair. She paused, bright blue eyes adjusting to the gloom. Aurora Carter—Rory, as she'd once insisted he call her—scanned the room. Her gaze landed on him. She froze. Silas straightened, the glass slipping from his fingers. It hit the floor with a sharp crack, but neither moved. His slight limp betrayed him as he shifted weight off his left knee, the old injury flaring like a ghost. "Rory?" The word escaped him, rough and low, laced with disbelief. She crossed the threshold, boots thudding softly on the worn floorboards. Water pooled at her feet. "Silas. Bloody hell." He rounded the bar, ignoring the twinge in his leg. Up close, she looked different—sharper edges to her face, a wariness in those blue eyes that hadn't been there before. The crescent scar on her left wrist peeked from under her sleeve, unchanged, a relic from the girl he'd known. But the rest? Time had carved her into something harder. "You look like you've seen a ghost." She slid onto a stool, her voice steady, but her fingers drummed the bar top. "I might have." He poured two whiskeys without asking, sliding one her way. The liquid burned amber in the low light. "Last I heard, you were buried in books at Cardiff Uni. Pre-Law, wasn't it? Following in Brendan's footsteps." She snorted, wrapping her hand around the glass. The scar flexed. "That was the plan. Dad's grand vision. But plans change." He leaned on the bar, his grey-streaked auburn beard catching the light. The signet ring glinted as he raised his own glass. "To changed plans, then." They clinked, the sound sharp in the quiet. She took a sip, eyes never leaving his. "You grew a beard. Suits you. Makes you look... distinguished. Less like the reckless bastard who used to drag me into trouble." A laugh rumbled from him, but it carried an edge. "Reckless? Me? You were the one sneaking out to meet me at those dodgy cafes in Cardiff. What were you, sixteen? Your mum would have skinned me alive if she'd known." "Seventeen." She corrected him, a faint smile tugging her lips. But it faded quick. "And yeah, Jen would have. But you were the family friend with all the stories. MI6 this, covert op that. Made my boring life sound like a fairy tale." He swirled his whiskey, watching the liquid cling to the glass. The bar's hum filled the silence—murmurs from the corner booth, the clink of ice in someone else's drink. His knee throbbed, a reminder of how far from those stories he'd fallen. "Fairy tales end. Reality kicks in." She tilted her head, studying him. "What's with the limp? You didn't have that last time." "Prague." He set the glass down harder than intended. "Botched job. Knee took a bullet. Or three. Retired me out." Her eyes widened for a fraction, then narrowed. "Retired? You? The Spymaster himself, running a bar in Soho? That's... not you." "Isn't it?" He gestured to the room, the maps fluttering slightly in the draft. "The Raven's Nest. My little kingdom. Beats dodging shadows in Eastern Europe." She traced the rim of her glass. "Sounds like settling. You used to talk about the thrill, the edge. Now you're polishing glasses?" "And you?" He countered, voice dropping. "What happened to the girl who dreamed of courtrooms and justice? Delivery job for some Chinese takeaway? Living above a pub?" Her jaw tightened. "Golden Empress. Yu-Fei's place. Pays the bills." "Bills." He echoed the word, letting it hang. The regret seeped in then, unspoken but heavy. He'd known her father, Brendan, back when Silas was fresh out of training, consulting on cases that blurred lines between law and espionage. Rory had been a kid, wide-eyed, hanging on his tales during family dinners. He'd encouraged her fire, her quick mind. Then life pulled them apart—his ops, her studies. Years slipped by without a word. She downed the rest of her whiskey, the burn chasing down regrets of her own. "Evan happened." He froze. "The ex? The one Brendan mentioned in passing?" "Yeah." She stared at the empty glass, voice flat. "Abusive prick. Thought he owned me. I left Cardiff, fled to London on Eva's advice. Childhood mate, you remember her? She said start over. So I did." His fist clenched under the bar. "Why didn't you call? I would have—" "What? Swooped in like some knight? You were off the grid, Silas. Last postcard was from Berlin, five years back." He rubbed his beard, the grey streaks mocking him. "Fair point. But still. Family friend, right? That's what I was." "Were." She emphasized the word, but her tone softened. "Time changes things. I'm not that girl anymore." "No." He agreed, pouring them both another round. The liquid sloshed. "And I'm not that agent. Knee's a constant reminder. Every step." She reached across, her fingers brushing his hand. The contact jolted them both. "Does it hurt?" "Every damn day." He didn't pull away. "But you adapt. Or you break." "I adapted." She withdrew her hand, flexing the scarred wrist. "Got this when I was ten, remember? Fell off that stupid bike you lent me. You patched me up, told me scars build character." He chuckled, but it rang hollow. "Did I? Wise words from a fool." "They stuck." She leaned in, voice lowering. "But Evan... he left worse scars. Invisible ones. Made me question everything—Dad's path, my choices. So I ran. Landed here, of all places. Above your bar, actually. Fate's a twisted bitch." His eyes sharpened. "Above here? You're kidding." "Nope." She grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Flat's cozy. View of the alley. Heard the bar's name, remembered your stories about ravens in intel lore. Figured it was a sign." He shook his head, the weight pressing down. All these months—years, really—she'd been right upstairs, and he hadn't known. The missed calls, the unsent letters. Regret clawed at him. "Why not come down sooner? Say hello?" "Fear." She admitted, staring into her glass. "What if you were different? What if I was? Easier to hide." "Hide from what?" He pressed, his limp evident as he moved closer. "From this." She gestured between them. "The gap. You were my hero, Silas. The one who showed me the world was bigger than Cardiff. Now look at us. Limping barman and delivery girl." "Hero." He scoffed, but his voice cracked. "Heroes don't fail. That Prague op—I lost good people. Walked away with this." He slapped his thigh. "And regrets." She met his gaze, bright blue piercing hazel. "We all have them. I regret not fighting Evan sooner. Regret dropping uni. Regret not reaching out." The bar door opened again, letting in a gust that flipped a photo on the wall. Neither looked. The tension coiled, years of silence unraveling in fragments. "Then why now?" He asked, ring tapping the bar. "Rainy night. Craved a drink. Saw the sign." She shrugged, but her eyes betrayed more. "Or maybe I got tired of regretting." He nodded, the unspoken hanging thick. "Stay awhile. Catch up properly." She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Pour another." As he did, the maps on the walls seemed to shift, borders redrawn by time. Their conversation flowed, tentative at first, probing the chasms. She spoke of London nights, dodging traffic on her delivery bike, the anonymity that healed her. He shared scraps of ops, sanitized versions that hid the blood. Laughter punctuated the gaps, but regret lingered, a shadow in every pause. "You ever think about going back?" She asked later, after the third round. The bar had emptied, just them and the neon hum. "To the field?" He glanced at his knee. "Can't. Desk job maybe, but that's not me." "No." She clarified. "To who you were. Before the limp." He pondered, beard scratching as he rubbed his chin. "Every day. But time doesn't reverse. You?" She traced her scar. "Sometimes. But that girl's gone. This one's tougher." "Tougher, yeah." He agreed, but his eyes held sorrow. "Miss the old you, though." "Me too." She whispered, the admission raw. They sat in silence, glasses empty. The hidden back room loomed behind the bookshelf, a remnant of his past life, but he didn't mention it. She didn't ask. Outside, rain pounded the streets, washing away nothing. Hours slipped by, words weaving through the dim light. She laughed at a memory—him teaching her basic codes over tea in her parents' kitchen. He grinned at her recounting a botched delivery that ended in a chase through Covent Garden. But beneath it, the tension simmered. Who they'd become stared back at who they'd been, the years a chasm neither could bridge fully. "You got grey in that hair." She noted, reaching out to tug a strand. "Age does that." He caught her hand, held it a beat too long. "You got steel in those eyes." "Survival does that." She pulled back, but gently. The clock ticked past midnight. Regrets surfaced in anecdotes—missed birthdays, unspoken farewells. He regretted not checking in after her uni started. She regretted ignoring his last message before Prague. Time's weight pressed, unspoken but palpable. "Ever wonder what if?" He ventured, voice low. "What if we'd stayed in touch?" She finished. "All the time." He poured one last round. "To what ifs." They drank, the burn a temporary balm. The bar felt smaller, the maps mocking their static lives. She stood eventually, coat dripping anew from the hook. "Don't be a stranger now." He said, limp hobbling him as he walked her to the door. "Won't." She promised, but her eyes held doubt. As she stepped out, the neon sign bathed her in green. He watched her ascend the stairs to the flat above, the one he'd never known was hers. The door shut behind him, leaving the bar empty save for echoes.