Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFDTCA3QVTQCRSG9EQY8X2

The Raven’s Nest pulsed with the low, familiar throb of its own heartbeat. Green neon bled into the Soho night, casting long, distorted shadows across the worn mahogany bar and the rows of dusty bottles that lined the back wall. Aurora Carter, or Rory, as she’d been known in another life, pushed open the heavy oak door, the scent of stale beer, aged wood, and something faintly metallic – perhaps the lingering ghost of Silas’s old trade – hitting her like a physical wave. She’d been here once, decades ago, when the world had felt larger, less complicated. Now, the bar seemed smaller, more intimate, yet somehow more imposing. She scanned the room, her sharp blue eyes missing nothing, landing finally on the figure silhouetted against the amber glow of the back bar. Silas Blackwood. The name, like the man, was etched into the fabric of her memory, a constant, unwelcome reminder of who she’d been and who she’d become. He stood with his usual quiet authority, one hand resting lightly on the polished surface of the bar, his grey-streaked auburn hair neatly combed, the faint silver glint of his signet ring catching the light. A slight, almost imperceptible limp marred the otherwise perfect posture of his six-foot-one frame. He turned, his hazel eyes, sharp and assessing, locking onto hers. The recognition was instant, a jolt of electricity that made her stomach clench. “Rory,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. The nickname, used after all these years, felt like a physical blow. She’d shed it, along with the life it represented, long ago. “Long time, no see.” She forced a smile, the ghost of her old self flickering for a second before being extinguished by the weight of the years and the choices she’d made. “Silas. You look… well.” The words were clipped, defensive. She’d changed, yes, but not into someone who welcomed the past with open arms. He didn’t flinch. “Time does that to everyone, doesn’t it? Makes us all strangers in our own skin.” He pushed off the bar, his movement fluid despite the limp, and walked towards her. The scent of his expensive, slightly musky cologne mingled with the bar’s atmosphere. “You’ve changed too, Rory. More than just the hair.” His gaze drifted down, lingering on the small, crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a relic from a childhood accident she’d long ago stopped mentioning. “Still carrying that little souvenir?” The scar was a constant, a physical anchor to a past she’d tried so hard to leave behind. She pulled her sleeve down, a gesture automatic and defensive. “It’s just a scar, Silas. Like the limp. Reminders of things best forgotten.” The lie hung in the air between them, thick and palpable. He nodded, understanding the unspoken words. “Evan didn’t break you, did he?” The question was blunt, direct, cutting through the carefully constructed facade she’d built around herself. The name of her abusive ex-husband, the reason she’d fled Cardiff and the life she’d been forced to abandon, hung unspoken but heavy in the silence. She flinched, the memory of his fists, his cruel words, flooding back. “He tried,” she whispered, the admission a bitter pill. “But I… I got away.” The truth was simpler, less dramatic, but no less painful. She’d escaped, yes, but the escape had cost her everything she’d ever known, everything she’d ever wanted to be. Silas’s expression softened, just for a second, a flicker of the old concern she’d known. “I heard. Cardiff. The barrister’s daughter. Pre-Law. You were brilliant, Rory. Top of your class.” He paused, studying her face, the sharp intelligence still there beneath the guarded exterior. “What happened? The law? The barrister? Evan?” She took a step back, the bar stool scraping against the floor. The weight of her choices, the life she’d abandoned, pressed down on her. “Life happened, Silas. Things change. People change.” She gestured vaguely around the bar, the neon sign casting a sickly green glow on her face. “This is where I am now. Delivering food. Living above a bar. Not exactly the barrister’s daughter, is it?” He chuckled, a low, knowing sound. “No, it’s not. But you’re still Rory, aren’t you? The one who could solve any problem with a quick, out-of-the-box thought?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard about the delivery job. Yu-Fei Cheung’s Golden Empress. That’s… different. From the law.” “It pays the rent,” she said, the words hollow. “And it keeps me out of trouble.” The truth was, the anonymity of the streets, the simple, physical labor, was a welcome contrast to the suffocating weight of her past life. The constant pressure of expectations, the fear of Evan, the suffocating respectability of her father’s world – it had all felt like a prison. This, this was freedom, however precarious. Silas’s gaze held hers, searching, understanding the unspoken relief in her words. “Freedom has a price, Rory. Sometimes it’s more than we can bear.” He gestured towards the bar. “Sit. Let’s talk. Properly. For a while.” She hesitated, the pull of old familiarity warring with the fear of what might be revealed. The bar was crowded now, the low hum of conversation a constant background noise. The hidden room behind the bookshelf, a relic of his old life, beckoned with the promise of privacy, but the public space felt safer, less revealing. She nodded, sinking onto the stool beside him, the worn leather cool beneath her fingers. The green neon sign outside cast a sickly glow on her face, illuminating the subtle lines of fatigue and the faint shadow of the scar on her wrist. The past, it seemed, had a way of finding you, no matter how far you ran.