Run: 2026-09-25-01M3CKGA5MZHPSZ9EXZNS1E5GE

The green neon sign of The Raven’s Nest flickered once, twice, before settling into its usual hum. The door swung open, letting in a gust of damp London air. Aurora Carter stepped inside, shaking rain from her jacket. The bar smelled of aged wood and something sharper—whiskey, maybe, or the ghost of old secrets. Silas looked up from polishing a glass. His hazel eyes narrowed just a fraction before recognition settled in. The glass hit the counter with a soft clink. "Well. Look what the storm dragged in." Aurora froze mid-step. The voice was older, rougher, but unmistakable. She turned, and there he was—Silas Blackwood, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. Which, she supposed, he did. "Silas." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "Didn’t know you still ran this place." "Didn’t know you were back in London." He wiped his hands on a cloth, slow, deliberate. "Thought you’d sworn off the city after... well." She exhaled through her nose. "After Evan? Yeah. But here I am." Silas gestured to the stool beside him. "Sit. Drink’s on the house." She hesitated, then slid onto the worn leather. The bar was quiet tonight—just a few regulars hunched over their drinks, the kind of people who knew better than to eavesdrop. "You look different," Silas said. Aurora smirked. "Five years’ll do that." "Not just the hair." He nodded at her wrist, where the old scar peeked out from under her sleeve. "Still got that, though." She tugged her cuff down. "Some things stick." Silas poured two fingers of amber liquid into a glass and slid it toward her. "What brings you in?" "Work. Delivery for Yu-Fei’s place." She took a sip, let the burn settle. "Heard this was still the best bar in Soho." "Flattery’ll get you everywhere." He leaned against the counter, watching her. "You’re not here just for a drink." She met his gaze. "No. But I didn’t know you’d be here." "Fair enough." He crossed his arms. "So. Rory Carter. Last I heard, you were halfway through a law degree." "Dropped out." She swirled the whiskey. "Turns out, I wasn’t cut out for barrister life." Silas raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about being cut out for things?" She shot him a look. "Since I realised I’d rather not spend my life defending rich arseholes." He chuckled, low and dry. "That’s my girl." The words hit her like a punch. *My girl.* Like she was still the reckless twenty-year-old who’d followed him into half-baked schemes just for the thrill of it. "You’re not my anything, Silas." He held up his hands. "Old habit." She drained her glass. "So. What’s your excuse? Thought you’d have retired to some villa by now." "Retired *from* things. Not *to* them." He tapped his signet ring against the bar. "This place keeps me busy." "Busy keeping tabs on everyone, you mean." Silas smirked. "Old habits die hard." A silence settled between them, thick with everything unsaid. The rain outside pattered against the windows. "You ever think about Prague?" she asked quietly. His expression darkened. The limp in his left leg was more pronounced when he shifted his weight. "Every damn day." She nodded. "Yeah. Me too." He studied her—really studied her, like he was trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the girl he’d known. "You’re not the same." "Neither are you." Silas exhaled, long and slow. "Some changes are for the better." "And some aren’t." He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached under the bar and pulled out a second glass, pouring himself a drink. "You staying in London?" "For now." She traced a finger along the rim of her empty glass. "Got a flat above a bar. Irony’s not lost on me." Silas’ lips twitched. "Which one?" "The Golden Empress’ delivery girl’s flat." He barked a laugh. "Yu-Fei still running that place?" "Like a well-oiled machine." Silas shook his head, amused. "You always did land on your feet." She shrugged. "Mostly." The air between them was charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. She could see the questions in his eyes—the ones he wasn’t asking. *Why’d you leave? Why’d you stay away so long? What the hell happened with Evan?* But Silas had never been one to pry. Not unless he had to. "You need a job," he said suddenly. She blinked. "Excuse me?" He wiped the bar between them, slow, methodical. "Part-time. Nothing heavy. Just keeping an eye on things." Aurora stared at him. "You’re offering me work?" "Consider it a favour. For old times’ sake." She should’ve laughed. Should’ve told him she wasn’t some wide-eyed kid anymore, that she didn’t need his handouts. But the truth was, she *did* need the money. And maybe—just maybe—she wanted the excuse to stick around. "What kind of work?" Silas’ eyes gleamed. "The kind you’re good at." She held his gaze. "And what’s that?" He smiled, just a little. "Not getting caught."