Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KR86ZEJH791P8WTWT016VG

The green neon sign buzzed above the door of The Raven's Nest and threw a sickly wash over the rain-slick pavement in Soho. Rory ducked under it with a bag of dumplings cooling against her hip, the Golden Empress delivery thermal still zipped to her chest. She had come down for a pint after her shift, not for company. Inside the bar smelled of old wood and spilled beer. Maps yellowed at the edges covered the walls, black-and-white photographs of men in coats she did not know. The low light caught the silver signet ring on Silas Blackwood's right hand as he polished a glass behind the bar. His grey-streaked auburn hair sat under a neat trimmed beard of the same color. He limped when he moved between bottles, the left leg catching just a fraction. Rory lifted her head to find him already looking at her. He lifted his chin a fraction. "You’re late on the rent." "I’m not late," Rory said. She set the bag on the bar. "I paid on Thursday." "Thursday was a week ago." She peeled off her jacket. Straight shoulder-length black hair fell forward as she shook rain from it. Bright blue eyes swept the room out of habit, cataloguing exits, the bookshelf that did not sit flush with the wall, the door at the back. "Someone’s in your booth," Silas said. Rory turned. The booth by the window held a woman with wet hair pulled back, a coat still dripping onto the floor. The woman looked up and smiled, and the smile broke into something smaller. "Eva?" The woman stood. She was taller than Rory remembered, or Rory had shrunk. Her coat was expensive, the kind that did not belong in this bar. She crossed the room in three strides and pulled Rory into an embrace that smelled of perfume and city rain. "Rory Carter," Eva said into her hair. "Laila. Malphora." Rory laughed, a short sound that caught in her throat. "You still call me that." "I still know you," Eva said. Silas watched from behind the bar, the glass still in his hand. He did not pour. He did not move. Rory stepped back and studied her. Eva's cheekbones had sharpened. Her eyes were tired in a way Rory had not seen at Cardiff University when they shared a flat and a kettle and plans for law school. Rory's own hands were rough from bike handles. A small crescent-shaped scar marked her left wrist, pale against her skin. "You came to London," Rory said. "I came back," Eva said. "I’m here for work. A conference." "You never liked London." "I never liked you leaving." Silas set the glass down with a soft click. He limped to the booth and set two glasses on the table without asking. He did not sit. Rory slid into the booth across from Eva. The vinyl sighed under her. She kept her coat on. "You look well," Eva said. "You look tired," Rory said. Eva's mouth tightened. "You look like you sleep on the floor." "I have a flat," Rory said. "Above the bar." "I know. I saw the sign when I walked in. The Raven's Nest." Silas leaned against the bar, arms crossed. The silver ring caught light. Rory's fingers found the scar on her wrist and rubbed it once. "Cardiff seems far," Eva said. "Cardiff is far," Rory said. "Dad still asks about you." "Does he?" "He asks about everyone. He asks about you most." Eva stared at her hands. "I didn’t know about Evan." Rory's jaw set. "You weren’t there." "I was there when you left," Eva said. "You called me from the train station. You said you were going to start over." "I did." "You stopped calling." "I stopped answering." A silence settled between them, heavy as the bar's low music. A regular at the end of the bar laughed too loud. Eva reached across the table and brushed Rory's knuckles with her fingertips. Rory did not pull away. "I thought you’d be a barrister," Eva said. "I thought I’d be a barrister," Rory said. "I was going to follow Dad. Pre-Law at Cardiff. I hated it." "You were good at it." "I was good at arguing," Rory said. "That didn’t help." Eva's eyes filled, then cleared. She blinked quickly. "You never told me why you left," Eva said. Rory looked at the maps on the wall, at a photograph of a man in Prague with a younger Silas standing beside him. She thought about the flat above, the thin ceiling, the way Silas never knocked. "He was a good story until he wasn’t," Rory said. "I learned to leave before the story ends." "You should have told me." "I told you I was leaving." Eva laughed, a raw sound. "You told me you were going to London. You didn’t tell me you were running." Rory leaned forward. Her voice stayed even. "I’m not running now." "You’re delivering dumplings at night," Eva said. "I’m paying rent," Rory said. "I’m keeping a roof. I’m not yours to audit." Eva flinched. She looked down at the glass Silas had set down. It remained full. Silas cleared his throat. He limped toward the bookshelf at the back, his hand brushing the spines. The shelf shifted a fraction. "You’re here late," he said to Rory. "Flat’s cold at this hour." "I’ll be up soon," Rory said. He nodded once and disappeared into the back room. Eva watched him go. "You know him." "He owns the building," Rory said. "He owns the bar. He owns half of Soho, apparently." "You live above a spymaster." "I live above a man with a bad knee and a ring." Eva smiled despite herself. "You’re still funny." Rory’s shoulders dropped a fraction. "I’m still tired." Eva reached for the glass and drank. She set it down hard. "I missed you," Eva said. Rory looked at her. The woman across the table was the same age, twenty-five, but she carried it differently. The lines around Eva's eyes were not from laughter. "I missed you too," Rory said. "I just didn’t know what to say when I saw you." Eva wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I have a hotel. I can’t stay long." "I know." "Can I see you tomorrow?" Rory thought about the shift at Golden Empress, about the bike, about the flat with the thin walls and the man who never knocked. She thought about the crescent scar on her wrist and how it had stopped hurting years ago. "You’re in London for work," Rory said. "I’m in London for three days." "Come for a drink." Eva’s eyes searched Rory’s face. The bar lights caught the blue in Rory’s irises. Eva leaned in. "You’re still cool-headed," Eva said. "You always figured the angle before anyone else." Rory didn’t answer. She lifted her glass. The liquid caught the neon green from outside. "You changed," Eva said softly. Rory set the glass down. "So did you." Eva stared at the table between them. Her fingers trembled. "I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner," Eva said. Rory watched her. The rain kept tapping the window. Silas’ bar hummed around them, full of old photographs and maps to places neither of them had been. "You’re here now," Rory said. Eva nodded. She didn’t cry. She smiled, a tight, real thing. "Tell me what you’ve been doing," Eva said. "All of it." Rory opened her mouth.