AI The green neon sign of The Raven’s Nest flickered once, twice, as Rory ducked beneath it, shaking rain from her jacket. The downpour had come out of nowhere, turning Soho’s streets into a slick, reflective mess. She wiped her palms on her jeans, the damp denim clinging unpleasantly, and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The familiar scent of aged whiskey and polished wood wrapped around her like an old, well-worn coat.
The bar was quiet tonight—just a few regulars hunched over their drinks, the low hum of conversation barely rising above the crackle of the vinyl spinning in the corner. Silas was behind the counter, polishing a glass with the methodical precision of a man who had spent a lifetime perfecting the art of patience. His hazel eyes flicked up, catching hers in the dim light, and he gave her a small, knowing nod. No words needed. She’d been coming here long enough that her presence was as routine as the ticking of the clock behind the bar.
She slid onto a stool, the wood smooth beneath her fingers, and sighed. “Rough night for deliveries.”
Silas set the glass down and reached for a bottle of bourbon—the good stuff, the kind he only pulled out for her or the occasional high-paying client. “Eva call?”
Rory smirked. “She’s convinced I’m wasting my life pedaling noodles across London.”
“And what do you think?”
She shrugged, watching the amber liquid swirl into her glass. “It’s honest work.”
Silas chuckled, low and rough, like gravel underfoot. “Since when have you cared about honesty?”
Before she could retort, the door swung open again, letting in a gust of cold, wet air. Rory didn’t look up at first—just another customer, another face in the endless parade of London’s night owls. But then she heard it: the unmistakable creak of a leather jacket, the faint, familiar jingle of keys in a pocket. Her fingers tightened around her glass.
She knew that sound .
Slowly, she turned.
The years had not been kind to Daniel Mercer. Or perhaps they had been too kind, softening the sharp edges of the boy she’d once known into something weary, something resigned. His dark hair was threaded with silver now, his face lined in ways that spoke of sleepless nights and decisions that had carved themselves into his skin. He was thinner, too, his shoulders less broad, as if the weight of whatever he’d been carrying had slowly pressed him down.
He froze in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, and then—oh, then they found her. His breath hitched, just for a second, before he smoothed his expression into something neutral. But Rory saw it. The flicker of recognition. The ghost of a smile that never quite formed.
“Rory,” he said, her name a quiet accusation on his lips.
She lifted her glass, as if toasting the absurdity of it all. “Daniel.”
He hesitated, then shut the door behind him and stepped further into the bar, his gaze flicking to Silas, who had gone very still, his fingers resting on the edge of the counter. The air in the room shifted, thickened, as if the very walls were holding their breath.
Daniel approached slowly , as if she were a wild thing that might bolt at any sudden movement. He stopped a respectful distance away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “I didn’t know you were in London.”
“Funny,” she said, swirling her drink . “I didn’t know you were, either.”
A beat of silence . The vinyl skipped, the needle catching on a scratch in the record, and for a moment, the only sound was the rain tapping against the windows. Daniel’s jaw tightened. “I moved back a few years ago.”
“After Prague,” Silas said, his voice low, almost to himself .
Daniel’s gaze flicked to him, sharp and assessing. “You know this man?”
Rory took a sip of her bourbon, letting the burn ground her. “Silas Blackwood. He owns the place.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed slightly , as if he were piecing together a puzzle only he could see. “Blackwood,” he repeated, as if the name meant something. Then, to Rory: “You’re working here?”
She bristled. “I’m drinking here.”
He exhaled through his nose, a sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so bitter. “Right. Of course.” He pulled out the stool beside her, the legs scraping against the floor, and sat. Up close, she could see the faint scar above his left eyebrow , a relic from some long-ago misadventure she didn’t know about. “You look… the same.”
She arched a brow. “You don’t.”
That got a real smile out of him, small and tired. “Yeah, well. Time’s a bastard like that.”
Silas slid a glass toward Daniel without a word, pouring him two fingers of the same bourbon. Daniel glanced at it, then at Silas, then back at Rory. “You’ve got interesting friends.”
“He’s my landlord,” she said.
Daniel’s eyebrows lifted. “You live above a bar?”
“It’s cheap.”
“And convenient,” Silas added dryly.
Daniel took a sip, his eyes never leaving Rory’s face. “I always figured you’d end up in some high-rise flat, arguing cases in front of a panel of judges. Your dad would’ve been proud.”
Rory’s fingers twitched toward the small scar on her wrist, the old habit of tracing its curve when she was uneasy . “Funny how life doesn’t always go the way we think it will.”
Daniel’s expression darkened. “Yeah. Funny.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the things they weren’t saying . Rory could feel the weight of it pressing against her chest, the unspoken questions, the regrets, the years that had passed like a river between who they’d been and who they were now.
“What happened to you, Daniel?” she asked finally, the words slipping out before she could stop them .
He stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the light. “A lot of things. None of them good.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.” He swirled his drink, the ice clinking softly . “What about you? Last I heard, you were at Cardiff, pre-law, following in your father’s footsteps .”
She laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Plans change.”
“Or we change,” he countered.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she took another sip, letting the bourbon warm her from the inside out. Daniel had always been the one with the grand plans, the big dreams. He’d been the one who talked about changing the world, about making a difference. She’d been the one who followed, who listened, who believed—at least for a while.
“Do you ever think about it?” Daniel asked suddenly, his voice quieter now . “About… before?”
Rory’s throat tightened. Before. When they were young and stupid and the world felt like it was theirs for the taking . Before Evan. Before the night everything had shattered . Before she’d run.
“No,” she lied.
Daniel’s gaze dropped to her wrist, to the scar she’d been unconsciously rubbing. His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach out, to trace the old mark himself. But he didn’t. “I do.”
Silas cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “You two need another round?”
Rory shook her head. “I should go. Early delivery tomorrow.”
Daniel’s jaw clenched . “Right. Of course.” He downed the rest of his drink in one swift motion and stood, the stool scraping back with a sound like a gunshot in the quiet bar. “It was good seeing you, Rory.”
She wanted to say something—anything—to bridge the chasm between them. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled in the years of silence , of distance, of things left unsaid. So she just nodded. “You too, Daniel.”
He hesitated for a second, as if he wanted to say more. But then he turned and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him with a quiet click.
The bar felt emptier without him, the air colder. Rory stared at her half-finished drink, the ice melting slowly , diluting the bourbon into something weaker, something less potent.
Silas wiped down the counter, his movements deliberate. “Old friend?”
She exhaled, long and slow. “Something like that.”
“He’s MI6.”
Rory’s head snapped up. “What?”
Silas’ hazel eyes were unreadable . “Recognized the look. The way he carries himself. The way he didn’t answer your questions.” He tapped his signet ring against the counter, a quiet, rhythmic sound. “He’s been in the field a long time. That kind of life… it changes a man.”
Rory’s stomach twisted. Daniel, a spy? It made a terrible kind of sense. The secrecy, the distance, the way he’d looked at her like she was a ghost from a past he’d tried to bury.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.
Silas shrugged. “Wasn’t my place.”
She swallowed hard, the bourbon turning to lead in her gut. “He knew you. Or at least, he knew of you.”
Silas’ lips quirked, just slightly . “Blackwood’s not an uncommon name. But if he’s who I think he is…” He trailed off, leaving the thought hanging between them.
Rory rubbed her temples, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t want to know.”
Silas studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.” He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a fresh glass, pouring her another drink. “But if you ever do…”
She took the glass, the weight of it familiar in her hand. “Yeah. I know.”
Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening under the flickering glow of the streetlamps. Rory stared at the door, half-expecting Daniel to walk back through it, to laugh and say it had all been some elaborate joke. But the door stayed shut.
She finished her drink in one long pull, the burn sharp and clean, and stood. “Night, Silas.”
He nodded. “Night, Rory.”
She walked to the door, her footsteps echoing in the quiet bar. As she pushed it open, a gust of cold air rushed in, carrying with it the scent of wet pavement and the distant hum of the city. She stepped out into the night, the neon sign of The Raven’s Nest casting a green glow over the slick pavement.
And for the first time in years, she felt the old restlessness stir inside her—the same feeling that had once sent her running from Cardiff, from Evan, from the life she’d been expected to live. The feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was more out there than the hand she’d been dealt .
She shoved her hands into her pockets and started walking, the city lights blurring slightly in the damp air. Behind her, the door to The Raven’s Nest swung shut with a quiet, final click.