Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMFPYH77WS853FKX84VFN7

The Raven’s Nest was the kind of place where the air smelled of old wood and cheap whiskey, where the dim green neon sign above the door flickered like a dying ember. Aurora Carter—Rory, to her friends—adjusted the strap of her messenger bag against her hip as she stepped inside, the scent of fried garlic and chili from Golden Empress still clinging to her coat. The door creaked shut behind her, and she exhaled, the weight of the last few weeks pressing down on her shoulders like a second skin. She hadn’t come here for a drink. Not really. But the bar was above Silas’ flat, and Silas had always been the one person who could make her feel like she wasn’t drowning. Like she might still be able to breathe. The Raven’s Nest was quiet when she arrived, the usual hum of conversation from the other end of the bar muted by the weight of her own thoughts. She slid onto a stool at the far end, near the back wall where the shadows clung thick and deep. Silas was already there, his back to her, the silver signet ring on his right hand catching the dim light. He didn’t look up as she took her seat, but the way his fingers tapped against the counter, the way his jaw tightened just slightly, said he’d heard her come in. “You’re late,” he said, voice low. Aurora didn’t answer right away. She leaned forward, her elbows on the bar, and let the silence stretch between them like a thread about to snap. The scar on her left wrist—small, crescent-shaped from a childhood accident—pulsed faintly beneath her skin, a reminder of the life she’d left behind. “Eva said you’d be here,” she said finally, her voice steady. “She said you’d remember.” Silas turned then, his hazel eyes sharp with something older than memory. “Of course I remember. You’re Rory.” The name felt like a blade between them. It had been years since they’d been Rory and Silas. Years since they’d been friends who could still see each other without the weight of what had come after. “You’ve changed,” she said, not looking away. He didn’t deny it. “So have you.” The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken things. The way his knee ached, the way his hands shook sometimes when he thought no one was looking. The way he’d spent years trying to forget what he’d done, what he’d lost. Aurora’s fingers tightened around the edge of the bar. “You’re not the same man I left behind.” Silas exhaled through his nose, a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “No. I’m not.” She wanted to ask what had changed him. What had made him walk away from the life he’d built, from the life they’d built together. But the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she said, “Eva said you were opening a bar.” Silas’ gaze flicked to the wall behind him, where a map of London was pinned to the corkboard. “It’s a front. For things I can’t talk about.” Aurora didn’t press. She knew that kind of secrecy. She’d been in the same kind of boat once. The bar was almost empty now, the few patrons scattered like scattered leaves. Silas ordered two whiskies, neat, and slid one across the counter to her. The burn of the alcohol was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. She took it, the glass warm against her palm. “You still work for Yu-Fei?” Silas asked, his voice rough. Aurora nodded. “Same thing.” He studied her for a long moment, then reached across the bar and tapped her wrist with his signet ring. The scar beneath her skin flared again, just for a second. “You’re still Rory.” She didn’t flinch. “I’m still me.” Silas exhaled through his nose, the way he used to when he was thinking something through. “You ever think about going back?” Aurora’s throat tightened. “What?” “To Cardiff. To your parents. To the life you left behind.” She set her glass down with more force than she intended. “I don’t go back.” “You don’t have to.” Silas’ voice was softer now, almost gentle. “But you could.” The words hung between them, heavy with possibility. With regret. With the weight of all the things she’d never told her parents, never told herself. Aurora looked out at the street beyond the window, where the neon sign flickered like a dying star. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” Silas didn’t answer right away. He just watched her, his hazel eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite read. Then he reached across the bar again and took her hand, his fingers warm against hers. “You’re still here,” he said. “That’s enough.” Aurora looked down at their joined hands, the signet ring glinting in the dim light. She knew what he meant. She knew what it meant to be here, to be alive, to be Rory. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, she wondered if she’d ever really let herself go. “You’re still here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all I need.” Silas smiled faintly, the kind of smile that said he understood. He released her hand and stood, his limp making a subtle shift as he moved. “Took you long enough.” Aurora followed his gaze to the back room, where the door was slightly ajar. “What’s that?” Silas’ expression darkened. “Nothing you need to know.” Aurora hesitated. “You’re not going to tell me?” He shook his head. “Not tonight.” She watched him go, the way his back was straight, the way his hands moved with quiet authority. She knew what he was hiding. She knew what he’d done. And she knew, too, that some secrets were better left buried. The bar was quiet again, the dim light casting long shadows across the walls. Aurora took a slow sip of her whiskey, the burn spreading through her like a promise. She was still Rory. She was still here. And for now, that was enough.