Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQJCPSFJCS32X0THX7G8ZE

The neon green sign flickered above the doorway, casting a soft emerald glow across the worn wooden floor of The Raven's Nest. Aurora pressed her palm against the familiar door, feeling the weight of memory before stepping inside. The bar smelled of whiskey and old paper, maps and photographs blurring together on walls that seemed to hold more stories than anyone could count. She didn't notice him at first. Her eyes were adjusting to the low light, scanning the handful of patrons nursing drinks in the late afternoon stillness. The bar was nearly empty, save for a couple of regulars hunched near the far end and the bartender polishing glasses with methodical precision. "Rory?" The voice stopped her mid-stride. A voice she hadn't heard in years, but would recognize anywhere. Evan sat at a corner table, his hands wrapped around a half-empty tumbler of amber liquid. He looked different—older, certainly, but more than that. Something in his posture had changed. The confidence that once bordered on aggression had been replaced by something more brittle. Cautious. Her first instinct was to turn, to walk out. But something held her in place. Maybe curiosity. Maybe something deeper. "Hello, Evan," she said, her voice flat and controlled. He gestured to the empty chair across from him. Not a request. Not quite an invitation. Something in between. Aurora moved slowly, each step deliberate. She knew how to navigate spaces now. How to enter them on her own terms. The small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist caught the dim light as she pulled out the chair. "You look well," Evan said. It sounded like an apology and an accusation all at once. She knew what he saw. A woman who was no longer the uncertain law student he'd once controlled. Her shoulders were squared, her bright blue eyes direct and unafraid. The black hair that used to fall across her face was now cut precisely to her shoulders, framing features that had hardened with experience. "London suits you," he added. A loaded statement. They both knew why she'd left Cardiff. Why she'd fled to London so suddenly. Why her relationship with her family had become something fragile and distant. Aurora studied him. The years had not been kind. Lines carved themselves between his eyes, around his mouth. He looked tired. Defeated. Nothing like the man who had once made her feel so small. "What are you doing here?" she asked. Evan turned his glass, watching the liquid swirl. "Just passing through." But they both knew that wasn't true. Nothing in Evan's world happened by accident. From the bar, Silas Blackwood watched them. His hazel eyes narrowed slightly, taking in the tension between the two. His fingers, adorned with the silver signet ring, tapped a quiet rhythm against the bartop. Some stories, he knew, were best left uninterrupted. The conversation would unfold. The past would speak its piece. And Aurora—strong, resilient Aurora—would decide how much of that past she was willing to carry forward.