Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQNE5DJKCGR30QJH2B9PYE

The neon green sign of The Raven’s Nest cast a sickly glow on the damp London pavement, flickering like a pulse in the thickening evening fog. Aurora Carter paused beneath its light, the familiar ache of unease prickling at the edges of her mind. She glanced back up the street, shoving dark strands of hair behind her ear, before pushing through the heavy oak door. Inside, the air was warm with the scent of old wood and spilled whiskey, the low murmur of voices winding through the dim space like smoke. Behind the worn bar stood Silas Blackwood, the man who had once been a shadow in her life and, in many ways, still was. He hadn’t changed much, or rather, the changes had settled into him like the rings of a tree—quiet but unmistakable. His auburn hair, now streaked with iron grey, caught the low light. The neat beard that framed his jawline was flecked with silver, matching the deliberate limp he still bore. The silver signet ring on his right hand caught the glow as he polished a glass with slow, practiced movements. Aurora hesitated a moment, caught between the urge to turn and vanish back into the night and the invisible tether that drew her forward. She had left Cardiff years ago, but here in this Soho bar, the years folded back around her. “Rory.” His voice was soft but low, a growl of recognition beneath the clatter of glasses. Her heart thudded unevenly, but she forced herself to meet his hazel eyes. “Silas.” He nodded, a slow, deliberate movement, as if measuring how much the girl he once knew had hardened. “It’s been a long time.” He set the glass down and wiped his hands on a towel, eyes never leaving hers. “Too long,” she muttered. Silas gestured toward the far corner beneath a faded map of old Europe—their usual haunt back when the world seemed smaller and less fractured. “Sit. Tell me how this city’s been treating you.” Aurora slid onto the cracked leather stool, the scar on her left wrist itching beneath the sleeve as she crossed her arms. “London’s... different,” she said carefully. “Busy. Harder. I keep thinking I’m just passing through.” Silas studied her, the sharp crease between his brows deepening. “You don’t look like a passerby.” Her fingers twitched. “No, I’m standing still more than I’d like to admit.” Their silence stretched, loaded and fragile. “Tell me about Evan,” Silas said abruptly, breaking the fatigue between them. The name hit her like a slap, quick and raw. She swallowed hard, steeling herself. “I got out.” “Good,” he said shortly. “I wasn’t sure you would.” “I had to,” she said quietly, eyes flickering away to the bar’s cluttered shelves. “Eva helped. And... well, I work deliveries now. Part-time.” Her voice betrays that indignity—Golden Empress was a far cry from the life she’d imagined. Silas nodded, understanding in the subtle tilt of his head. “Golden Empress. Yu-Fei’s place?” “That’s the one. Small hours, long nights, decent food.” The bar door creaked, and the doorframe swallowed the shadow of a new customer, but neither spoke. Their breaths were measured, as if afraid to disturb the fragile thread reconnecting them. Silas leaned closer. “You’re not the Rory I knew.” “And you’re the Silas I feared might never change,” she said, voice dry but not unkind. He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’m still the same man who limped into Prague all those years ago. Just learned to hide it better.” Aurora’s gaze softened just a fraction. “You always did have a way of staying hidden.” “For a girl who fled law school faster than a bad case, you sure know how to read people.” His eyes flicked to the small crescent-shaped scar on her wrist, half-hidden beneath the cuff. “Still got that scar from the treehouse?” She traced it lightly with a fingertip, the faint memory bittersweet. “Yeah. Some things don’t change.” “No. Some things definitely don’t.” They sat in shared silence. The muted hum of conversations around them seemed to ebb away, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of years lost and words unsaid. “Why did you come back tonight?” Silas asked, voice low enough for just her to hear. Aurora inhaled sharply. “Maybe I was looking for something I lost. Or maybe just... someone who knew who I was before all this mess.” Silas’s eyes softened. “You’ve carried enough, Rory. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.” “I don’t know how to stop,” she admitted, the words tumbling out like brittle hopes. “Sometimes,” he said slowly, “the first step is showing up. Like you did.” She met his steady gaze, a flicker of the old trust sparking between them. “I’m scared.” “Good,” Silas said quietly. “It means you still care.” Her laugh was short but genuine. “I guess I do.” “Then we start there.” The neon sign outside buzzed faintly, casting its green glow through the grimy window, washing the two of them in light both fractured and hopeful. Outside, the city trudged onward—relentless, unforgiving—but inside The Raven’s Nest, two lost friends sat rebuilding what time and silence had almost broken.