Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQNMJ614Z7YVSK7JYS95JJ

The air inside The Raven’s Nest was thick with the scent of aged wood and whispered stories. Dim amber lighting cast long shadows across the cluttered walls, where maps and black-and-white photographs jostled for space, each bearing silent witness to secrets long kept. Occasionally, a pale green neon sign flickered overhead, casting an eerie glow that seemed to pulse in time with the bar’s muted heartbeat. Rory pushed open the heavy door, the familiar creak echoing softly amid the quiet hum of muffled conversations. She hesitated for a moment, scanning the room as her eyes adjusted, the weight of years pressing into her shoulders. This was her quiet refuge—an unassuming basement loft above a London pub, yet tonight, it felt strangely unfamiliar. She was not an unfamiliar face here. Rory had delivered countless meals to the staff and regulars—an unremarkable ghost in the background. But tonight, her gaze lingered, sharp and assessing, searching for something buried beneath the veneer of routine. Her black hair fell just past her shoulders, straight and immaculate, a stark contrast against her simple gray coat. Bright blue eyes, usually quick to hide her emotions, flickered with something more guarded—caution, perhaps, or the odd flicker of anticipation. She slid into a corner, not far from the bar, her posture subtly alert despite the subdued ambiance. She’d come here chasing ghosts, but she hadn’t expected to find one sitting right across the room. The man was a silhouette against the smoky glow, his broad shoulders slumped but held with the quiet confidence of someone who knew what wariness looked like from the inside. Silas. He sat with his usual unhurried grace, a glass of dark whisky in hand, the faint smell of tobacco lingering on his grey-streaked auburn hair. His hazel eyes caught hers across the room, and for a moment, he simply watched, the same cool and observant gaze she remembered from ages past. Unbidden, her breath caught. Memories flickered—of hurried missions, whispered confidences under starless skies, the quiet trust they’d once shared. But those times had faded, replaced now by a chasm of unspoken years. She’d thought she had buried it, the ache of what she left behind, but now it stirred, restless. The moment hung between them like an unfinished sentence. Rory hesitated, then rose slowly, making her way toward him with a careful, deliberate gait. As she approached, she saw the subtle lines around his eyes—signs of age, yes, but also experiences etched deep into his expression. “Silas,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a cautious warmth. He looked up, his gaze steady, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, knowing smile. “Rory. Or should I call you Carter now?” She winced, unfamiliar with how he sounded—calm, but edged with something that was almost a prejudice, an echo of the past. “Rory’s fine. It’s been... a while.” He signaled to the bartender, who nodded silently, pouring a fresh glass of whisky. Silas pushed it across the bar to her, the gesture simple but significant. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She hesitated, then sat, clutching the glass in her hands. “Old friend, I didn’t come here to catch up on the weather.” A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “No? Then I’m intrigued. What’s brought you back to Soho?” Rory looked down at her drink, feeling the weight of her own words. The years had carved quiet trenches into her face, made her more guarded. The girl who had once run through Cardiff’s streets with reckless abandon was gone, replaced by someone who had learned to hide her scars—both visible and unseen. “I’m chasing something,” she said softly. “Someone. Or maybe... trying to understand why I left. Part of me thought I could outrun everything, but I guess some ghosts follow.” Silas studied her, the steady silence stretching like an insular current. His gaze was sharp, unflinching. “And did you find what you were looking for?” She shook her head slowly. “No. Not yet. But I’ve learned that some things don’t stay buried, no matter how far you run.” Her voice faltered, just briefly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. Or... to feel this way.” His lips thinned, a trace of something unreadable. “People change. Sometimes they become someone else entirely.” The words hung in the air, weighted with the silent regret of years lost and memories that refused to stay buried. Rory watched him, noticing how the light played off his face—lines etched by time, eyes shadowed by stories he might never tell. “Have you? Changed so much that you’re unrecognizable?” He chuckled softly, a dry, almost bitter sound. “I’ve just had more time to collect my scars. The world wasn’t kind, Rory. I don’t know if we’re ever the same after what we carry.” Her fingers twitched instinctively, reaching to trace her scar—a crescent moon on her wrist, a childhood accident that had become a badge of something she could never quite shed. She looked away, then returned her gaze to him. “Maybe not. But I like to think some parts stay the same. The core, the parts you don’t let the world see.” Silas studied her anew, the way she clenched her fists around her glass, the way her eyes flicked away from his. He saw beneath the veneer—saw the fragile threads of vulnerability woven into her composed exterior. “I’ve always believed in the importance of keeping secrets,” he said softly. “But sometimes, you need to face those shadows. Otherwise, they’ll grow into something you can’t control.” She nodded, the weight of his words sinking into her chest. “I left because I was afraid. Of what I might become. Of what I already was.” He paused, then reached forward, tapping his fingers on the surface of the bar. “You’re still the same person I knew—just with more stories to tell. And scars. Everyone’s got them. But that doesn’t mean they’re unwanted. It means they’ve survived.” Rory looked down at her drink, then back up. “Survivors, I suppose. But sometimes I wonder what I’d be if I’d stayed—the kind of girl I was before I fled.” Silas studied her, his voice low and measured. “Maybe she’s still there—just buried. Maybe someday she’ll resurface. Until then, keep your guard, Rory. That’s what keeps us alive—preserving what we value, even if it’s just a flicker of who we used to be.” She offered a faint, grateful smile. “Thanks, Silas. For everything.” He nodded once, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. “Be careful out there. Some ghosts are better left undisturbed.” They sat in silence, two remnants of a past that refused to fade, the shadows of their history stretching long into the present. Outside, the London night continued on, indifferent to the tangled truths and unspoken regrets shared within the dim refuge of The Raven’s Nest.