AI The glass slipped from her fingers before it hit the bar. Aurora barely caught it, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim as her other hand shot out to steady the tumbler. The ice cubes clinked against the glass, a sharp sound that cut through the low hum of the Raven’s Nest. She exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. Too close.
“Still saving the world one drink at a time, I see.”
The voice came from behind her, smooth and laced with something she couldn’t place—amusement, maybe, or the ghost of a laugh. Aurora turned, her pulse quickening as she took in the man leaning against the bar. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that had once been all sharp angles and now bore the weight of years in the lines around his eyes. His auburn hair, streaked with grey, was neatly combed back, and his hazel eyes held the same quiet intensity she remembered. Silas Blackwood.
She hadn’t seen him in five years. Not since that night in Prague, the one that had left him with a limp and her with a lesson in how quickly trust could turn to ash.
“Silas,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “Didn’t know you still owned this place.”
“Didn’t know you still lived in London.” He pushed off the bar, the slight hitch in his step more pronounced than she remembered. The signet ring on his right hand caught the dim light as he gestured to the stool beside her. “Mind if I join you?”
Aurora hesitated, then nodded. Silas settled onto the stool, his movements deliberate, controlled. The bartender, a wiry man with a scar running from his temple to his jawline, slid a glass of whisky toward Silas without a word. Old habits.
Silas took a sip, his eyes never leaving hers. “You look well.”
“Liar,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips. She knew what he saw: the dark circles under her eyes, the way her black hair had lost some of its shine, the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist—old, but still visible. “But I’ll take it.”
He chuckled, low and rough, like gravel underfoot. “Always did have a way with words.”
The air between them was thick with things unsaid. Aurora swirled her drink, the ice clinking again. “What happened to your leg?”
“Prague,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. And maybe it did. She’d heard the stories—whispers in the shadows of MI6, the kind of tales that got passed around like contraband. A botched operation. A knee shattered by a bullet. A career ended in a single, bloody moment.
She traced the rim of her glass with a finger. “You retired.”
“Had to.” He took another sip, his gaze flickering over the bar, the patrons, the exit. Old instincts. “The knee wouldn’t let me run anymore. And in my line of work, running’s rather essential.”
Aurora nodded, though she knew there was more to it than that. Silas had never been the type to walk away from a fight unless he had no other choice. “And now?”
“Now I run a bar.” He gestured to the walls, the old maps and black-and-white photographs that gave the Raven’s Nest its character. “Keep my ear to the ground. Help out the occasional friend.”
“Friends,” she repeated, the word tasting bitter. She and Silas had been more than friends once. Or at least, she’d thought so. Before Prague. Before the lies.
He must have seen the shift in her expression because his own darkened. “You’re still angry.”
“No,” she lied. “Just surprised to see you.”
Silas leaned in slightly , his voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re the one who disappeared, Rory. Not me.”
The use of her old nickname sent a jolt through her. No one called her Rory anymore. Not since she’d fled Cardiff, not since she’d reinvented herself in London as Aurora, the delivery girl with no past. “I had my reasons.”
“Evan?” His voice was careful, like he was testing the weight of the name.
Aurora’s grip tightened on her glass. “How do you know about Evan?”
“I make it my business to know things.” He swirled his drink, the ice clinking. “Heard you left him. Heard he didn’t take it well.”
She exhaled sharply . “You heard wrong. I left him. He didn’t like it. End of story.”
Silas studied her for a long moment, his hazel eyes unreadable . “You always were a terrible liar.”
Aurora looked away, her jaw tightening. The Raven’s Nest was quieter than usual tonight, the usual hum of conversation muted, as if the bar itself was holding its breath. The green neon sign above the entrance cast a faint glow over the room, turning the edges of everything slightly surreal .
“Why’d you really leave MI6?” she asked suddenly, changing the subject. “Wasn’t just the knee, was it?”
Silas’s expression shuttered. “Some things aren’t worth the cost.”
“And what cost was that?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he finished his drink and set the glass down with a quiet thud. “You ever think about going back?”
Aurora laughed, a sharp, humourless sound. “To what? The life where I spent my days lying to everyone, including myself? No thanks.”
“You were good at it.”
“So were you.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “But here we are.”
Silas sighed, rubbing his thumb over the signet ring. “Here we are.”
A silence settled between them, heavy with the weight of years and choices and roads not taken. Aurora could feel the ghost of the past pressing in, the memories of late nights in safe houses, of whispered conversations and the kind of trust that only came from knowing someone would have your back, no matter what.
“You ever miss it?” she asked quietly.
Silas’s eyes flicked to the hidden bookshelf at the back of the bar, the one that led to the secret room where deals were made and secrets were traded . “Every damn day.”
Aurora followed his gaze, then looked back at him. “But you don’t regret leaving.”
“No,” he said, his voice firm . “I don’t.”
She nodded, though she wasn’t sure she believed him. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. Because if Silas Blackwood, the man who had once been the best in the business, could walk away without looking back, what did that say about her? About the choices she’d made, the life she’d built?
The bartender slid another whisky toward Silas, and he caught it with a nod of thanks. “You working tonight?”
Aurora shook her head. “Just stopping in for a drink.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
Silas took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers. “You always were a terrible liar,” he repeated.
She should have walked away then. Should have finished her drink, tossed some money on the bar, and left before the past could catch up with her. But she didn’t. Because for the first time in years, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time: the pull of an old connection, the weight of a history that refused to stay buried.
“What do you want, Silas?”
He set his glass down, the ice clinking softly . “Same thing I’ve always wanted. To keep the people I care about safe.”
Aurora’s breath caught. “And do you? Care about me, I mean?”
Silas didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, worn leather wallet. He flipped it open and slid it across the bar toward her. Inside was a photograph, faded at the edges. A younger Aurora, grinning, her arm slung around a younger Silas. They were standing in front of a pub in Cardiff, the kind of place where the beer was cheap and the memories were cheaper.
She picked up the photo, her fingers trembling slightly . “Where’d you get this?”
“Found it in an old box,” he said. “Reminded me of better days.”
Aurora stared at the photo, the weight of it pressing against her chest. Better days. Before the lies. Before the betrayal. Before she’d learned that trust was a currency, and she’d been bankrupt for a long time.
She slid the wallet back toward him. “Some things are better left in the past.”
Silas took the wallet, but he didn’t put it away. Instead, he tapped the photo with a finger. “Maybe. But the past has a way of catching up with you, Rory. And when it does, you’d better be ready.”
Aurora’s pulse quickened . “Is that a threat?”
“A warning.” He finally tucked the wallet back into his jacket. “There are people looking for you. People who remember what you used to be.”
She stiffened. “What people?”
Silas’s expression was grim. “The kind who don’t take kindly to loose ends.”
Aurora’s mind raced . She’d been careful. Had changed her name, her hair, her life. But some ghosts refused to stay buried. “How long have you known?”
“Long enough.” He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper . “They’re close, Rory. And when they find you, they won’t ask questions.”
She swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. “Why tell me this?”
“Because you’re still one of mine.” His voice was rough, the words raw. “And I protect what’s mine.”
Aurora’s throat tightened. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that, after all this time, Silas Blackwood still had her back. But trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not anymore.
She finished her drink in one swift motion, the burn of the whisky grounding her. “I can take care of myself.”
Silas didn’t argue. He just nodded, his eyes shadowed. “I know you can. But you don’t have to.”
The offer hung between them, heavy and unspoken . Aurora could feel the pull of it, the temptation to step back into the world she’d left behind. To let Silas be her shield, her guide, her mentor again.
But she’d spent too long running to turn back now.
She stood, the stool scraping against the floor. “I should go.”
Silas didn’t try to stop her. But as she turned to leave, his voice followed her, quiet but firm. “They’ll find you, Rory. And when they do, you’ll need friends.”
Aurora paused at the door, her hand on the frame. She didn’t look back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then she stepped out into the London night, the weight of the past pressing against her back like a storm on the horizon.