Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQRECVDJJ54Z1QGJQJS568

The familiar scent of stale beer and a faint undercurrent of disinfectant hit Aurora Carter the moment she pushed open the heavy oak door of The Raven's Nest. Soho pressed in around the small bubble of her arrival, a cacophony of sirens and distant laughter bleeding into the relative quiet of the bar. She’d been walking, deliberately, the miles from her flat above Golden Empress, wanting to shake off the dull throb in her temples and the gnawing dissatisfaction that had settled in her stomach after another fruitless day chasing down unpaid invoices for Yu-Fei Cheung. Elara, Eva’s younger sister, was visiting London, and Aurora had promised to meet her here, a neutral territory for their reunion. She scanned the room, the usual clientele – a few solitary figures nursing pints, a couple of hushed voices in a corner booth – occupying their usual spaces. Silas, his grey-streaked hair neatly combed, stood behind the polished mahogany bar, polishing a glass with practiced ease. He offered a small, knowing nod as she approached. "Evening, Rory," he said, his voice a low rumble that barely disturbed the quiet. He never used her full name, not since she’d started working for him, in a manner of speaking. "Long day?" Aurora leaned against the bar, rubbing her tired eyes. "You have no idea." The crescent moon scar on her left wrist felt suddenly prominent, a phantom itch reminding her of scraped knees and long-forgotten tumbles. She’d always been more inclined to adventure than lectures, a fact that had caused no end of consternation for her barrister father. "Elara running late?" Silas slid a coaster across the worn wood. "She called an hour ago. Stuck in traffic near the Thames. Said to wait for her though." He gestured vaguely toward a table near the back, mostly obscured by a towering bookshelf crammed with leather-bound volumes. "Preferred her to be somewhere she wouldn't get 'harassed by strangers,' her words." Aurora chuckled, a dry, rustling sound. "Sounds like Eva’s sister all right." She caught sight of her reflection in the mirrored back bar. Straight black hair, shoulder-length, framing a face that looked older than twenty-five, etched with a weariness that had only recently begun to show. She’d traded the pre-law textbooks for delivery routes, the stifling expectations of Cardiff for the anonymous hum of London. It wasn’t the life she’d envisioned, not really, but it was hers. And it was hers alone, free from Evan’s suffocating control. She moved towards the table Silas had indicated, the muted green neon sign of The Raven's Nest casting a faint glow through the frosted window. As she neared the bookshelf, a voice, surprisingly clear and resonant, cut through the low murmur of the bar. "…and then, the audacity! To suggest I was being overly dramatic about a misplaced manuscript. A manuscript, Elias, that could rewrite the entire narrative of…" Aurora froze. The voice. It was Eliza. Eliza Thorne. Her Eliza. She cautiously peered around the edge of the bookshelf. And there she was. Eliza, looking impossibly radiant, was perched on the edge of a plush armchair in the dimly lit alcove, her back to Aurora. Her fiery red hair, which Aurora remembered as a wild cascade, was now coiled in an elegant chignon, catching the faint light. She was dressed in a tailored tweed jacket that looked expensive, her hands gesturing emphatically as she spoke to a man Aurora couldn't see. Aurora’s breath hitched. She hadn’t seen Eliza in nearly five years. Not since that disastrous New Year's Eve party, the one where everything had imploded, leaving a wreckage of misunderstandings and unspoken words. Eliza, with her bright, inquisitive eyes and her passion for forgotten histories, had been Aurora's anchor in the turbulent sea of her early twenties. Eliza, with her effortless charm and her belief in Aurora’s sharp mind, had made her feel seen in a way that few others ever had. Eliza turned her head slightly, her profile visible for a fleeting second. She was older, of course. Her features seemed sharper, more defined. But her eyes, even from a distance, still held that familiar gleam of intelligence and – was that… sadness? The man Eliza was speaking to finally shifted, and Aurora’s heart gave a painful lurch. It was Elias Vance. Elias, with his perpetually furrowed brow and his quiet disdain for anything he deemed frivolous. Eliza and Elias. A combination Aurora had never imagined, a pairing that felt as incongruous as velvet and sandpaper. "It's just… the implications," Eliza was saying, her voice now softer, laced with frustration. "The historical precedent. If this is true, then everything we thought we knew about…" Aurora couldn’t breathe. She wanted to turn, to flee back to the relative safety of the bar, but her feet were rooted to the spot. Eliza, her Eliza, was here, in London, with Elias Vance, discussing historical implications. Aurora, who had fled London years ago to escape one life and had hesitantly built another, was now confronted with a ghost from her past, a ghost who had clearly moved on to far grander pursuits than Aurora’s delivery rounds. Eliza’s gaze swept over the bookshelf, and for a horrifying moment, Aurora thought she’d been spotted. But Eliza’s eyes passed over her, lingering for only an instant before returning to Elias. Then, unexpectedly, Eliza laughed. It was a bright, musical sound, yet it held a brittle edge that made Aurora’s stomach clench. "Oh, Elias, you’re impossible," Eliza declared, rising from her chair. She smoothed down her jacket, and Aurora noticed a small, silver brooch glinting on the lapel. It wasn't the quirky, handmade pieces Eliza used to favor. This was… sophisticated. "I’m merely stating facts, Eliza," Elias replied, his voice a low murmur that Aurora strained to hear. "The provenance of the document has yet to be established with any certainty." "Facts," Eliza scoffed, but there was a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "You and your facts. Sometimes, Elias, you need to allow for a little… narrative. A little human element." She started to walk out from behind the bookshelf, her path taking her directly towards Aurora. Time seemed to warp. The years dissolved. The quiet bar receded. It was just Eliza, her familiar stride, the tilt of her head. Aurora swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She forced herself to take a step back, pressing herself against the cool wood of the bookshelf, as if willing herself invisible. Eliza rounded the corner, her eyes, a startling shade of emerald green, scanning the room. They swept past Aurora, then snapped back, widening in disbelief. "Aurora?" The name, spoken aloud, felt like a thrown stone. Aurora’s carefully constructed composure fractured. She managed a small, weak smile. "Eliza. What a… surprise." Eliza stopped, staring. Her lips parted, then closed. It was as if she, too, was wrestling with the years, with the unsaid. The animated spark that had been in her eyes moments before seemed to dim, replaced by a flicker of something akin to… regret? Or was it just surprise? "Aurora? Is that really you?" Eliza’s voice had lost its earlier animation, now tinged with a careful politeness that grated on Aurora’s nerves. "My God. It’s been… what? Five years?" "Something like that," Aurora said, the words feeling flat and inadequate. She clutched the strap of her worn messenger bag, the leather cool against her palm. "You look… different." Eliza’s gaze, though polite, was unnervingly direct, cataloging the changes. Aurora saw it – the slight thickening in her jaw, the faint lines around her eyes, the subtle weariness that clung to her like cheap perfume. She knew Eliza saw the delivery driver's uniform beneath the thin jacket, the practicality of her boots. "So do you," Aurora managed, her voice a little sharper than she intended. "That jacket looks… expensive." Eliza’s smile tightened. "It is. I work in academia now, Rory. University of London. History department." Academia. Of course. Eliza, with her insatiable curiosity and her sharp intellect, would thrive there. Aurora felt a familiar pang of inadequacy, a dull throb that had nothing to do with her headache. She remembered their late-night study sessions, Eliza’s infectious enthusiasm for the past, her pronouncements that they would one day unearth forgotten truths. Aurora, then, had been happy to be her eager, if less brilliant, student. "That’s… fantastic, Eliza," Aurora said, the words tasting like ash. "I always knew you would. You were always the one with the real drive." Eliza’s gaze flickered away, the politeness finally cracking. "And what about you, Rory? What have you been up to?" The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history. Aurora looked at Eliza, at her perfectly coiffed hair, her professional attire, her articulate, confident demeanor. She thought of her own life – the early mornings, the endless traffic, the cheap Chinese food, the quiet solitude of her flat above Silas's bar. She thought of Evan, of the fear that had driven her to London, and then the quiet resolution that had kept her here. "I work for Yu-Fei Cheung," Aurora said, the words clipped and factual. "Deliveries. And I live above here." Eliza’s eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly. "Oh. Right. That’s… practical." She winced internally, Aurora thought. A soft flinch that betrayed a deeper judgment. "It pays the bills," Aurora said, a defensiveness creeping into her tone. "More than I can say for some of the things I used to dream about." The bar door chimed again, and Aurora’s heart leaped with a misguided sense of relief. Elara. But it wasn't Elara. It was Silas, making his way towards their table, a bottle of dark ale in his hand. "Ah, Aurora, you found your spot," Silas said, his gaze briefly flitting over Eliza, then settling on Aurora with a subtle flicker of his hazel eyes. He’d seen. He always saw. "And you've found company. Good." He placed the ale on the table, along with a glass. "Thought you might need this after all." "Thanks, Silas," Aurora murmured, her fingers closing around the cool glass. Eliza watched the interaction, her expression carefully neutral. "Silas. It’s been a while." "Eliza," Silas nodded, his acknowledgment brief but polite. "Still gracing us with your presence when the occasion calls for it, I see." "Elara promised to drag me out," Eliza said, her smile returning, a more genuine, if still guarded, one this time. "Though I suspect she’s forgotten all about me by now." "She wouldn't forget," Aurora said, surprising herself. She remembered Elara’s fierce loyalty, a trait she shared with her older sister. "Elara never forgets." "No," Eliza agreed softly, her gaze meeting Aurora’s again. This time, there was no mistaking the emotion in her eyes. It was longing. A deep, aching longing for something lost. "She doesn’t." The weight of their shared past settled between them, a tangible presence. Eliza, the budding historian, a world away from the girl who used to hum along to punk rock and argue about obscure poets. Aurora, the delivery driver, a world away from the law student who had once dared to believe in a future that now seemed impossibly distant. The unspoken words, the missed connections, the diverging paths – they were all here, in the dim light of The Raven's Nest, swirling around them like the scent of old paper and stale ale. And for the first time in years, Aurora felt a sharp, undeniable ache of regret, a ghost of what might have been, whispering in the silence.