AI Rain pelted the cobblestones outside The Raven's Nest, turning Soho's narrow streets into slick mirrors under the streetlamps. Aurora Carter pushed through the heavy wooden door, shaking water from her jacket. She hadn't planned on stopping here. London had spat her back out after five years in Berlin, chasing shadows of a life she'd thought she could rebuild. The flat above the bar? Long since rented out to strangers. But habits died hard, and thirst pulled her in.
The place smelled the same—peat smoke and aged whiskey, with a undercurrent of damp wood. Dim lights cast long shadows over the walls, where old maps curled at the edges and black-and-white photos stared out like ghosts. A few patrons hunched over their pints at the scarred oak bar, murmuring low. Aurora scanned the room, her bright blue eyes catching on the green neon sign flickering through the window. She slid onto a stool at the far end, away from the cluster of locals.
"Whiskey, neat," she said to the bartender, a young guy with tattoos snaking up his arms. He nodded, poured, and slid the glass over without a word.
She wrapped her fingers around it, feeling the warmth cut through the chill in her bones. Straight shoulder-length black hair clung to her neck, still wet from the downpour. The small crescent scar on her left wrist itched, a phantom reminder of that childhood fall from the apple tree in Cardiff. Five years. Evan was ancient history now, buried under layers of reinvention—Laila in Berlin's underground clubs, Malphora in the hacker circles she'd dipped into for quick cash. But Rory? That name felt like a skin she'd shed.
A shadow fell across the bar. She looked up.
Silas Blackwood stood there, wiping a glass with a cloth, his hazel eyes narrowing as recognition dawned. Grey streaked his auburn hair more than she remembered, and his neatly trimmed beard carried the same silver threads. He set the glass down with deliberate care, his silver signet ring glinting under the low lights. A slight limp marked his step as he moved closer, the old knee injury from Prague still dictating his gait.
"Rory?" His voice cut through the murmur like a blade, quiet but edged with authority. No hello, no surprise fanfare—just her name, hanging in the air.
She froze, glass halfway to her lips. "Silas."
He leaned against the bar, arms crossed, studying her. The years had carved deeper lines around his eyes, but he carried himself with that same quiet command, the retired spymaster who never fully retired. "Thought you were a ghost. Berlin, was it? Or did the winds blow you elsewhere?"
She set the glass down, harder than intended. Liquid sloshed. "Berlin, yeah. Then Prague for a bit. You keeping tabs?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Old habits. Heard you vanished after that mess with Evan. Good riddance to him. But five years, no word? Not even a postcard from the underground?"
She traced the rim of her glass, avoiding his gaze. The bar's hum filled the silence —ice clinking in someone else's drink, a low laugh from the corner booth. "Didn't think postcards were your style. Besides, I needed clean air. London choked me after... everything."
He nodded, pouring himself a measure of the same whiskey. Slid it across to join hers. "Choked a lot of us. Remember that night you showed up here, bag in hand, eyes like you'd seen the devil? Eva sent you my way. Said you needed a roof and a job that didn't ask questions."
Aurora sipped, the burn steadying her. "Yeah. Delivery girl for the Golden Empress by day, crashing in that flat upstairs by night. You patched me up, taught me how to spot a tail. Hell, you even showed me that hidden room behind the bookshelf, like I was one of your operatives."
Silas chuckled, a dry sound that echoed off the maps on the wall. "You had the knack for it. Quick thinker, out-of-the-box. Reminded me of myself at your age—before Prague turned me into a limping barman."
She glanced at his leg, the limp more pronounced now as he shifted weight . "You never talked much about that. Botched op, knee shattered . End of story."
He raised his glass, clinked it against hers. "Stories end when they're done. But you... you've changed. Not just the aliases—Laila, Malphora. Heard whispers. Hacking rings, close calls with the law. That's not the Rory who fled Cardiff with dreams of law school."
Her laugh came sharp, bitter. "Law school? That was Dad's dream. Brendan Carter, the barrister, molding his daughter in his image. Mom just nodded along. I ran from Evan, but really , I ran from all of it. Berlin sharpened me. Taught me survival isn't pretty."
Silas leaned in closer, voice dropping. "Survival's one thing. Becoming someone else entirely? That's a weight . Saw it in the field—agents who crossed lines, forgot their own names. You look at me like I'm a relic, but I see the regret in your eyes, Rory. Unspoken, sure, but it's there."
She met his gaze then, bright blue clashing with hazel. The bar faded around them, the photos on the wall blurring into memories. "Regret? For what? Leaving? Or coming back?"
He straightened, ring tapping the bar once. "Both. You left without a goodbye. I woke up one morning, flat empty upstairs. Note on the counter: 'Thanks for the nest. Flying solo.' Thought you'd circle back eventually. Years pass, and here you are, dripping rain like a stray."
Aurora pushed her hair back, scar catching the light. "Wasn't personal. Eva checked in on you, didn't she? Told me the bar was thriving, your network still humming in that secret room. You didn't need me underfoot."
His expression tightened, a flicker of something raw crossing his face. "Need? No. But you were like the daughter I never had. After Prague, this place became my world. Contacts, whispers, the occasional favor. You brought life to it—your quick wit, those late-night talks over maps, plotting escapes that never happened."
She drained her glass, signaling for another. The bartender obliged, but Silas waved him off, pouring it himself. "Escapes. Funny, coming from the Spymaster. You taught me to vanish, Silas. And I did. Berlin's shadows swallowed me whole. Met people who made Evan look like a choirboy. Learned to code my way out of tight spots, forge paths where none existed."
He sipped slow, eyes never leaving hers. "And the cost? I see it in how you hold that glass—tight, like it'll slip away. Regret's a silent killer, Rory. Eats at you from the inside. I carried mine from Prague—lost a partner, botched intel. Limped home, opened this bar as a front. But the weight ? Never leaves."
Her fingers tightened on the glass. Rain hammered the window, a relentless drum. "You think I regret it? The aliases, the risks? Hell, Malphora pulled off hacks that paid for my flat in Kreuzberg. Laila danced through nights that blurred into days. But yeah, maybe there's a piece missing. Coming back here, seeing you... it's like staring at a mirror I shattered years ago."
Silas set his glass down, limp carrying him around the bar to her side. He pulled up a stool, close enough that she caught the faint scent of his aftershave—sandalwood, unchanged. "Shattered mirrors still reflect truths. Tell me about Berlin. Not the glamour—the grit."
She exhaled, leaning back. "Grit? Started with a job bouncing at a club. Met a guy, hacker type. He showed me the ropes—dark web dives, phishing schemes that danced on the edge of legal. One night, we cracked a corporate server. Adrenaline hit like nothing else. But then... mistakes. Cops raided the squat we operated from. I bolted, left him behind. Echoes of Evan, in a way—running when it got messy."
His hand hovered near hers, not touching, but the gesture hung there . "Running's my specialty. Did it after Prague. Partner's name was Elena . Bullet meant for me caught her instead. I limped away, regrets piling up like unpaid tabs. Opened the Nest to bury them. But you? You're young. Don't let it harden you into stone."
Aurora's voice softened, edges fraying. "Young? Twenty-five feels ancient some days. Dad's calls stopped after I ditched uni. Mom's letters... they petered out. Unspoken regret there, too. I fled Cardiff, then London, chasing what? Freedom? Now I'm back, and the city's the same, but I'm not."
He nodded, beard scratching as he rubbed his chin. "Cities don't change. People do. Look at me—grey hair, bad knee, still pulling strings from behind this bar. That hidden room? Used it last week for a contact from the old days. Favor for favor. But the thrill's gone, replaced by aches."
She glanced toward the bookshelf at the back, knowing the mechanism—a twist of a false book spine. "Thrill's overrated. Berlin taught me that. One alias too many, and you forget your own face. Rory Carter? She's the girl with the scar from climbing trees, dreaming of courtrooms. Now? I'm a delivery ghost who hacks on the side."
Silas poured them both another round, the amber liquid swirling. "Forget? Never fully. I see her in you still—that cool head, the out-of-the-box spark. Regret's not about erasing the past; it's about carrying it without breaking."
Her laugh escaped, softer now. "Poetic for a barman. You always had a way with words, Si. Remember those nights upstairs, poring over your old case files? You'd spin tales of close calls, and I'd plot alternate endings. Childish, maybe, but it felt like possibility."
He smiled, genuine this time, lines crinkling. "Not childish. Vital. I missed those nights. After you left, the flat echoed . Rented it to some artist kid, but it's not the same. Unspoken words, Rory—we pile them up like debts."
She reached across, fingers brushing his signet ring. "Debts. Yeah. I should've said goodbye. Regretted it on those cold Berlin mornings, wondering if you'd forgotten me."
"Forgotten? Impossible." His voice roughened, limp forgotten as he stood. "Come on. Let's dust off that hidden room. Maps are still there. Plot a new escape—together this time."
Aurora slid off the stool, rain still drumming outside. The bar's warmth wrapped around them as they moved toward the bookshelf, the weight of years shifting, not lifting, but shared . Unspoken regrets lingered in the air, thick as smoke, but dialogue bridged the gaps, pulling them back from the edges.