Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMXKCXR8RNBPD31PSC6V31

The Raven’s Nest hummed with the kind of quiet energy that only comes from people who’ve known better days and are still here, still drinking. The neon green sign above the door pulsed like a slow heartbeat, casting a sickly green glow over the dimly lit room. The walls were lined with old maps and black-and-white photographs—some of them faded, others still sharp enough to make the air thick with the scent of old ink and something else, something sharper, like burnt coffee and the faint metallic tang of old secrets. Aurora Carter—Rory, as she was called back then—sat at the bar, her fingers tracing the rim of her pint glass. She wasn’t the same girl who used to come here, the one who’d laugh too loud, who’d spill her beer on Silas’s counter and demand he wipe it off with his sleeve. Now, she moved with a quiet precision, her black hair still straight but now streaked with the faintest silver at the temples, her bright blue eyes sharp beneath the weight of years spent looking over her shoulder. She had the same scar on her left wrist, a small crescent from a childhood accident, but it looked different now, like a reminder of a life that had once been hers to shape. Silas Blackwood—Si, as he preferred—was leaning against the counter, his hands clasped behind his back, his grey-streaked auburn hair catching the dim light. He had a slight limp, a habit from his old days in the service, but it was subtle, almost imperceptible now. The silver signet ring on his right hand gleamed faintly, a relic of a time when he’d been someone else’s problem. He didn’t look up as Rory slid onto the stool beside him, but his voice was low, measured, as it always was. “You look different,” he said. Rory didn’t flinch. She took a sip of her beer, the cool liquid burning just enough to make her think. “You look the same.” “Same?” Silas exhaled through his nose, a sound that was almost a laugh. “You’ve been running for years, Rory. Not just from Evan, but from yourself.” She set her glass down with a deliberate clink. “I don’t run anymore.” “You don’t have to.” His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a man who’d seen too much. “You could’ve stayed in Cardiff. You could’ve finished your degree. You could’ve—” “You don’t know what I could’ve done,” Rory cut in, her fingers tightening around the glass. “And you don’t know what I did.” Silas didn’t answer that. Instead, he turned his head slightly, as if studying her, and the bar seemed to hold its breath. The air between them was thick with the kind of tension that didn’t need words to speak. The photographs on the wall—some of them of Rory, younger, laughing, others of Silas, older, more serious—flashed in her mind like old film strips. She remembered the way he’d used to tell stories, how he’d make you believe in the impossible just by looking at him. But now, he was just another face in the crowd, another man who’d seen too much. “You’re working at Golden Empress,” Silas said at last. Rory nodded. “Part-time. Delivery guy.” “Cheung’s place.” “Yeah.” Silas didn’t press. He knew the answer. He’d seen her work there before, the way she’d move through the kitchen like she belonged there, even if she didn’t. The way she’d smile at the staff, the way she’d take orders without argument. It was the same Rory, but different. She’d lost something, and it wasn’t just the man she’d left behind. “You’re still here,” Silas said. Rory shrugged. “I have to be.” “You could’ve gone anywhere.” “I’ve been everywhere.” Silas studied her for a long moment, his gaze flickering over the scar on her wrist, the way her fingers still trembled when she thought no one was looking. “You’re not the same girl who came in here looking for a fight,” he said at last. She didn’t deny it. “I’m not.” “But you’re still here.” She took another sip of her beer, the taste bitter and familiar. “I’m still here because I have to be.” Silas didn’t say anything else. He just watched her, his expression unreadable, and the bar seemed to hold its breath. The weight of the years between them pressed down, a silent question hanging in the air. Rory knew what he was thinking. She knew what she’d done. And for the first time in years, she didn’t have an answer. Outside, the city of London pulsed with life, but inside the Raven’s Nest, the past and the present collided in a quiet, burning silence.