Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQKW6Q5WX8CP82AE6X6MF5

The door to The Raven’s Nest swung open with a faint creak, and Aurora Carter stepped inside, her shoulders tense beneath her usual cool composure. She paused just a moment, eyes flicking over the familiar dimness of the bar—its walls adorned with cracked photographs and faded maps, the low hum of conversations blending with the clink of glass. The neon sign above the door flickered faintly, casting a sickly green glow that seemed to seep into her bones. She wandered toward the bar, her heels echoing softly on the cracked wooden floor. Behind the counter, Silas Blackwood looked up from behind a row of bottles, his hazel eyes narrowing in curiosity as they settled on her. He recognized her instantly—those sharp features, the straight black hair—yet something had shifted in her, something harder, a flicker of something behind her eyes that wasn’t there before. “Rory,” Silas greeted, voice low and gravelly, the sort that carried weight even in its casual tone. His usual calm was layered with a cautious warmth. Aurora hesitated for just a moment before offering a small, guarded smile. “Silas.” She took a step closer, her voice light but edged with something unreadable. “Been a while.” He nodded, closing the bottle in front of him. “Too long. Last I heard, you were in Cardiff. Thought you’d be buried under law books.” His eyes flicked to her left wrist, casting a shadow over the faint crescent scar there. “Guess I was wrong.” She chuckled softly, the sound lacking its usual ease. “You know me—never quite the one to follow the beaten path.” Her gaze wandered around the dim room, taking in the familiar clutter—the maps, photographs, the quiet surveillance of a life that now felt distant, even unreal. Silas leaned on the bar, his fingers brushing against the signet ring on his right hand. “Then what brings you here? London’s a long way from Cardiff. And... you don’t usually come seeking old friends.” Aurora’s eyes flickered, briefly revealing a flicker of vulnerability. She took a deep breath, then let her expression settle into something more composed. “Needed a change. Some space. And I heard this was the place to find...” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “interesting company.” Silas studied her a moment longer, brows lifting. “Didn’t peg you for the type to suddenly run toward the shadows.” She shrugged, a half-smile ghosting her lips. “Sometimes the shadows find you, no matter how much you try to drown them out.” Her voice dropped, quieter now, as if unwinding words she’d kept buried. “Evan’s not in my life anymore. But the wounds, they stay. You know how it is.” Silas nodded once, expression unreadable. “Humans are stubborn that way.” He gestured toward a stool. “Sit. Tell me what’s really going on.” She hesitated again, then eased onto the stool. Her hands rested on her lap, betraying a flicker of tension. “I got out. Left Cardiff—left everything behind.” She paused, eyes flickering to a distant corner of the room where a small, shadowed figure might have watched. “Came here to breathe.” Silas leaned forward, elbows on the bar, studying her as if trying to decipher her new face—her new life. “And what do you see now, Rory? Does London feel different from Cardiff?” She shook her head slowly. “It’s not the city. It’s me. I’ve changed.” Her bright blue eyes flicked over him, searching for recognition, for some sign she still mattered to this world. “I’m not who I was. I’ve... been through things I didn’t see coming.” Her words hung in the air, weighty and uncertain. Silas melted into a silence that stretched uncomfortably, then finally eased into a quiet, knowing expression. “You always did have a knack for outthinking everyone—including yourself.” He paused, leaning back. “Sometimes, we change because life forces us to. Sometimes, because we want to forget.” Aurora looked away briefly, her shoulders tightening again. “It’s not just that. I learned there are things you can’t outrun. Things that stay behind, waiting. The scars—visible or not—they remind us. I’ve grown good at pretending they don’t.” His gaze softened slightly, but his voice remained steady. “Enough years and the past catches up, Rory. No matter how far you run, some ghosts have a funny way of finding you.” She took a breath, wondering if she’d fully braced herself for what came next. “I didn’t come here to spill my soul,” she said softly. “Just... needed to see if old friends can still recognize the person they once knew.” He smirked faintly, a flicker of that familiar smirk she’d once admired. “Friendship’s a strange thing, Rory. It survives a lot. But it doesn’t always survive who we become.” She looked down at her hands, eyes flickering with unspoken regret. “I know I’m not the girl I used to be. But some part of me still feels like her. Sometimes, I wonder if that girl is buried deep or just hiding behind a wall I built myself.” Silas pushed off the bar and adjusted his tie, the way he always did when attention was demanded. “What you need, what we all need, is to remember that the past is a ghost—sometimes loud, sometimes silent. But we carry it, whether we want to or not.” A long silence stretched again, filled only with the hum of the bar’s quiet life. Aurora met his gaze, searching for some truth in his hazel eyes. “Do you ever wish you’d stayed the same?” she asked suddenly, voice trembling just enough to betray her vulnerability. Silas hesitated, then shrugged. “Sometimes I do. But then I remember that change is inevitable. It’s how we handle it that counts. You’re still here, Rory. Not just in this bar, but in the pieces of who you’re becoming. That’s enough for now.” She exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing, if only a fraction. Her fingers brushed her scar absent-mindedly, as if grounding herself. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to hold onto what little I can before everything slips away.” Silas raised his glass in a quiet toast. “To new beginnings, then. And to the ghosts we carry—may they teach us what’s worth saving.” Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between them—of past wounds, of unspoken regrets, and of the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, they could face whatever came next. Outside, the neon flickered erratically, casting shadows that danced like memories long buried, waiting to resurface in the quiet grit of the night.