Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR2TGZ1KYN8R82W23B1AK9

Aurora Carter pushed open the heavy door of The Raven’s Nest, the familiar scent of aged whiskey and old paper hitting her immediately—soothing, yet laced with an undercurrent of something darker. The neon sign flickered above, casting an unsteady green glow over the polished oak bar. She hesitated for a moment, her bright blue eyes scanning the dimly lit room before settling on the familiar silhouette behind the counter. Silas. He sat with his back straight, the silver signet ring catching the low light as he poured himself a drink. The limp in his left leg was subtle but noticeable, a ghost of old injury that had never quite vanished. The air around him seemed to pulse with an unreadable calm, a quiet authority that never quite faded, no matter how long the years had stretched between them. Rory hesitated, then approached, her steps tentative. She hadn’t planned to come here tonight, not like this. But somehow, she’d end up in the same room, face to face with a piece of her past she had never fully buried. "Silas," she said softly, her voice breaking the quiet like a whisper. He turned slowly, hazel eyes narrowing in recognition. His gaze flicked over her—shoulder-length black hair now slightly more tousled, sharper than she remembered, as if the years had etched their own stories into her face. The small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist caught the bar’s dim light as she lifted her hand, a silent reminder of childhood accidents and unspoken pain. “Rory,” he greeted, voice gravelly, a hint of surprise lingering beneath the calm. “It’s been a long time.” She took a cautious step closer, shoulders tight but trying to relax. “Too long.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, memories rushing back—of shared secrets, of quiet companionship before the world had pulled them in different directions. Silas pushed aside a mug stained with rings of dried whiskey and gestured to the seat across from him. “Come, sit. You look—different.” Rory sank into the seat, eyeing him carefully. His hair was more streaked with grey now, a distinguished crown that matched the furrow at his brow. The years had carved deep lines around his eyes, but his gaze remained sharp, unreadable, still holding that quiet, commanding energy. “Life,” she said simply, and a faint, bitter smile touched her lips. “You know how it goes.” She fidgeted with the bracelet on her wrist, the scar catching her eye again, as if it wanted to tell her to keep her distance. He studied her, silent for a moment. “You left Cardiff and never looked back,” Silas said softly, almost like he was testing the words, feeling their weight. She nodded never quite meeting his gaze. “London was... necessary. Safer. Somewhere I could breathe.” Her tone wavered, just enough to reveal the truth behind her words. Necessary, yes. But not easy. He took a long sip from his glass, then set it down with deliberate care. “I always wondered what you’d become,” Silas said. “You were always sharp—too sharp for this world. I assumed you’d be somewhere, I don’t know—lawyers, judges, something with clear borders. Not hiding out in Soho, running deliveries for a restaurant.” Her smile was hollow now. “Things change. People change. You know that.” He leaned back slightly, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. “They do. But some things stay buried. Or at least, they try to.” She hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “You’re still here,” she finally said, voice quieter. “In this place no one notices. Still playing the spymaster, I guess.” He chuckled faintly, a sound like gravel. “Retirement suits me. Though I’ve learned that everyone has secrets they hide, even in the light of day.” His gaze drifted to the shelf behind her, lined with old photographs and maps, shadows of a life she’d never fully known. The air between them thickened, weighed down by years they’d tried to forget, by words left unspoken. Rory kept her expression neutral, but her heart thrummed with the ache of these missed years. She’d come here tonight with a clear purpose, but now that she was sitting here, the purpose blurred—replaced by a need to understand how much had been lost. “You’ve always been good at keeping your distance,” Rory said softly, breaking the silence. “Sometimes I wonder if you ever truly let anyone in.” Silas looked at her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—regret, maybe, or longing. “I’ve learned that intimacy is a luxury many can’t afford. In our line of work, trust is heavy baggage. You learn to carry it alone.” She nodded, sucking in a breath. “I know. I’ve been carrying my own, too.” Her voice cracked just enough to betray her, and she quickly masked it. “All these years, I thought I’d left everything behind. But some scars... they’re harder to heal than I thought.” His expression softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “We all have scars, Rory. The kind you see and the kind you don’t.” For a moment, neither said anything. The music overhead played softly, a dusty saxophone weaving through the haze of smoke and shadows. Somewhere upstairs, a clock ticked monotonously, marking the passing of years. “Do you ever wonder,” Rory began, hesitating, “what might’ve been if we’d taken a different path? If I’d stayed?” Silas’s gaze lingered on her, steady but contemplative. “No, I think you’re better off here. Somewhere safe. And I—” He paused, lips pressing into a thin line. “I think some things are better left in the past.” She looked down at her hands, trembling slightly. “Maybe so. But I needed to see you again. To remember the person I was—the person I wanted to be.” He reached across the bar, a tentative gesture. “We all need reminders sometimes. Of who we are, or who we used to be. Just don’t forget—what’s left behind sometimes haunts us longer than we expect.” Aurora looked at his outstretched hand, then at the scars that lined her own wrist. A silent acknowledgment of the weight she carried—of all she’d escaped, and all she’d never quite escaped. She reached out, her fingers brushing his in a faint, almost trembling grasp. A fleeting connection between two shadows of their former selves. The neon glow flickered, casting an eerie, unsteady light over everything. And in that quiet, dim room, two old friends sat suspended between what was and what could never be again, their unspoken regrets echoing softly in the space between words.