Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMJDHW1GBX7P1HMFM0NPBW

The Raven’s Nest hummed with the kind of quiet energy that only comes from a place where secrets linger like smoke in the air. The neon green sign above the door pulsed faintly, casting a sickly green glow over the dimly lit room. Aurora Carter—Rory, as she preferred—adjusted the strap of her backpack, the weight of it familiar but not quite the same. She had come here for the food, for the escape, but also for something else, something she couldn’t name yet. The bar smelled of aged whiskey and the faint metallic tang of old stories. She spotted him immediately. Silas Blackwood stood at the far end of the bar, his back to her, a glass of amber liquid in hand. His auburn hair, streaked with grey, was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it for the last hour. He was taller than she remembered, his posture broader, the limp in his left leg more pronounced now. A silver signet ring glinted on his right hand, the only thing about him that didn’t seem to have softened with time. Aurora exhaled through her nose, her bright blue eyes flickering over the room. The bar was packed, but she made her way through the crowd, her black hair swaying just enough to catch the flickering light. She stopped when she reached him, her boots scuffing against the worn linoleum. “Silas,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He turned slowly, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. The man she’d known in her late twenties—sharp, quick-witted, always the one to cut through the nonsense—was still there, but something had shifted. The lines around his mouth were deeper, the edges of his beard more defined. He didn’t smile. “Aurora,” he said, his voice rough. “I didn’t expect to see you either.” She hesitated, the weight of the years pressing down on her like a physical thing. “You look different.” “So do you,” he countered, his gaze sweeping over her. “You’re thinner. Your hair’s darker. And you’re carrying that damn backpack everywhere.” She lifted her chin. “It’s not just that.” Silas leaned against the bar, his limp making a subtle shift with each step. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “That I’m not the same person I was when we last talked.” She swallowed. “I left London without saying goodbye. Without telling you I was coming. And then I never came back.” Silas’s fingers twitched around his glass. “You didn’t have to.” “But I did,” she pressed. “I should have.” A beat of silence. The kind that pressed between them like a physical force, thick and unyielding. Aurora’s scar on her left wrist—small as it was—pulsed faintly beneath her skin, a reminder of the accident that had changed everything when she was twelve. She hadn’t told Silas about that then, either. Not until later, when she’d needed to. “You were in Cardiff,” Silas said finally, his voice low. “Leaving Evan behind. That wasn’t a choice you made lightly.” Aurora’s throat tightened. “I was scared. And I was angry. But I was also running from something else. From myself.” Silas studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You came to London to work at Yu-Fei’s. That’s not running.” “It’s not running,” she agreed. “It’s just… I’m not sure where I belong anymore.” Silas exhaled through his nose, a sound that was almost a laugh. “You’ve always been good at that.” She turned away, her fingers brushing against the strap of her backpack. “I should go.” “Wait.” Silas’s voice cut through her, sharp and unexpected. “You’re not leaving.” Aurora looked back at him, her eyes burning with something she hadn’t felt in years. “I’m not sure I can stay.” Silas stood, his limp making a deliberate, almost theatrical shift. He crossed the space between them in two strides, his hand reaching out before she could react. His fingers closed around hers, warm and rough. “You’re not leaving me.” She pulled away, her pulse hammering in her throat. “I’m not leaving you. But I’m not here for you either.” Silas’s jaw tightened. “Then what are you here for?” Aurora swallowed hard. “I’m here because I’m tired of running.” He studied her for another long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded. “You always were the one who could see the truth.” She smiled faintly. “I’m not so sure about that anymore.” Silas’s gaze darkened. “Then maybe it’s time you learned.” The bar around them seemed to hold its breath, the hum of conversation and laughter swallowed by the quiet between them. Aurora looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time in years, she felt something she hadn’t expected: a flicker of hope. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the weight of all the things she’d left behind. The things she’d never said. Silas dropped his hand, his expression hardening. “We should talk.” Aurora nodded, her stomach twisting. “About what?” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned, his back to her, and gestured toward the back of the bar. “The secret room.” She hesitated. “Why?” Silas didn’t look at her. “Because I have something to show you.” Aurora followed him through the crowd, the weight of the backpack pressing into her shoulders. The back room was tucked behind a bookshelf, the door hidden by a stack of old maps and photographs. Silas pushed the shelf aside with a practiced flick of his wrist, the hinges groaning softly. The room was small, dimly lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Silas stepped inside, his limp making a subtle shift as he moved. Aurora followed, her breath catching in her throat. On the wall opposite her, a map of London was pinned to the corkboard. A single name was circled in red ink: *Cardiff*. Beside it, a stack of files was neatly arranged, their spines worn from years of handling. Silas reached out, his fingers brushing against the map. “This is where you were when you left.” Aurora’s stomach twisted. “What is this?” “A record,” Silas said, his voice low. “Of everything you’ve done since you left.” She turned to him, her eyes wide. “What do you mean?” Silas gestured to the files. “I’ve been tracking you. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to.” Aurora’s breath hitched. “You did?” Silas nodded. “You disappeared from London after you left Evan. No one knew where you were. No one knew what you were doing. And then, a year later, you showed up in Cardiff. Working at a university library. Then you left again, this time for London. But I found you there. Working at Yu-Fei’s.” Aurora’s hands clenched into fists. “You followed me.” Silas’s gaze was steady. “I followed you because I was worried. Because I knew you were running from something. And I didn’t know what to do about it.” Aurora’s mind raced. “You’ve been watching me this whole time?” Silas didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound journal. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing against hers again. Aurora took it, her fingers trembling. The cover was worn, the pages yellowed with age. She flipped through them, her breath catching in her throat. “You’ve been keeping notes on me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Silas nodded. “Since the day you left London. Every move you made. Every decision you made. I thought if I knew what you were doing, I could help you.” Aurora’s eyes burned. “You could have just asked.” Silas’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t want to. Because I knew you wouldn’t tell me.” Aurora looked up at him, her heart pounding. “Why?” Silas studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Because you’re afraid of what you’ll find out. Because you’re afraid of who you’ve become.” Aurora’s breath hitched. “I’m not afraid of that.” Silas’s gaze darkened. “Then why did you come here?” She swallowed hard. “Because I’m not the same person I was when we last talked. And I don’t know if I can keep running anymore.” Silas exhaled through his nose, his expression softening just a little. “Then maybe it’s time you stopped.” Aurora looked at the journal in her hands, at the pages filled with Silas’s careful notes. She looked at him, at the man she’d known in her twenties, and at the man he’d become. She looked at the weight of all the years she’d spent running, and the things she’d never said. She closed the journal, her fingers brushing against the pages. “I don’t know what to do.” Silas reached out, his hand closing around hers again. “You don’t have to know right now.” Aurora looked up at him, her eyes burning. “I’m not sure I can stay.” Silas’s expression darkened. “Then maybe you should leave.” She pulled away, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m not leaving you.” Silas studied her for a long moment, his gaze steady. Then, slowly, he nodded. “We should talk.” Aurora nodded, her stomach twisting. “About what?” Silas didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned, his back to her, and gestured toward the door. “The truth.” Aurora followed him out into the bar, the weight of the backpack pressing into her shoulders. The crowd around them seemed to hold its breath, the hum of conversation and laughter swallowed by the quiet between them. Silas turned to her, his expression unreadable. “You’re not the same person you were when we last talked.” Aurora looked at him, her eyes burning. “I’m not sure I’m the same person I was when I left.” Silas studied her for a long moment, his gaze steady. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Then maybe it’s time you found out.” Aurora exhaled through her nose, her breath steadying. “I don’t know what to do.” Silas reached out, his hand closing around hers again. “You don’t have to know right now.” Aurora looked up at him, her eyes burning. “I’m not sure I can stay.” Silas’s expression darkened. “Then maybe you should leave.” She pulled away, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m not leaving you.” Silas studied her for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Then, he turned, his back to her, and gestured toward the back of the bar. “The secret room.” Aurora followed him inside, the weight of the backpack pressing into her shoulders. The room was small, dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old paper and something else—something she couldn’t quite place. Silas stepped forward, his limp making a subtle shift as he moved. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver flask. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing against hers again. Aurora took it, her breath catching in her throat. “What is this?” Silas didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured toward the map on the wall. “This is where you were when you left. And this”—he tapped the flask—“is what you need to remember.” Aurora looked at the flask, at the silver surface, and then at Silas. She looked at the weight of all the years she’d spent running, and the things she’d never said. She took a deep breath, her fingers trembling. She opened the flask, the contents warm against her tongue. She took a sip, the liquid burning her throat. Silas watched her, his expression steady. “You’re not the same person you were when we last talked.” Aurora swallowed, her breath steadying. “I’m not sure I’m the same person I was when I left.” Silas studied her for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Then maybe it’s time you found out.” Aurora looked at the flask in her hands, at the silver surface, and at the weight of all the years she’d spent running. She looked at Silas, at the man she’d known in her twenties, and at the man he’d become. She closed the flask, her fingers brushing against the surface. “I don’t know what to do.” Silas reached out, his hand closing around hers again. “You don’t have to know right now.” Aurora looked up at him, her eyes burning. “I’m not sure I can stay.” Silas’s expression darkened. “Then maybe you should leave.” She pulled away, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m not leaving you.” Silas studied her for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Then, he turned, his back to her, and gestured toward the door. “The truth.” Aurora followed him out into the bar, the weight of the backpack pressing into her shoulders. The crowd around them seemed to hold its breath, the hum of conversation and laughter swallowed by the quiet between them. Silas turned to her, his expression unreadable. “You’re not the same person you were when we last talked.” Aurora exhaled through her nose, her breath steadying. “I’m not sure I’m the same person I was when I left.” Silas studied her, his gaze unwavering. “Then maybe it’s time you found out who you really are.” Aurora took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the strap of her backpack. She looked at Silas, at the man who had been her friend, her mentor, her confidant. She looked at the weight of all the years she’d spent running, and the things she’d never said. She nodded slowly. “I think I do.” Silas’s expression softened, just a little. “Then let’s find out.”