Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQQSP07VANKJ8AWTVNXN2C

The low hum of conversations filled the air, punctuated by the clink of glasses and the occasional murmur of a piano in the corner. Shadows stretched across the walls of The Raven’s Nest, where photographs of wartime London and old city maps lined the dark wood panels. The green neon sign flickered softly above the entrance, casting a pallid glow that made the whole place seem like some secret alcove from another life. Aurora Carter stepped inside, her footsteps silent on the worn stone floor. She kept her eyes low, scanning for familiar faces, unaware that all the years of distance barely changed the steady pounding of her chest. She clutched her coat tighter around her, the weight of expectation pressing down. The bar was quieter than usual, the usual crowd drowsing in their own private worlds. At the far end, Silas Blackwood was seated, hunched slightly over a glass of dark amber whiskey. His hazel eyes were fixed on something distant, the lines of his face more drawn than she remembered, sharper around the cheekbones. His grey-streaked auburn hair was tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it too many times. The silver signet ring on his right finger caught a flicker of the bar’s dim light. Rory hesitated just within the doorway before forcing her steps forward. The air was thick with the scent of oil and old leather, nostalgia and secrets clinging to every breath. She saw him glance up, recognizing her immediately. The moment their eyes met, a strange silence fell, as if the years had collided into an unspoken storm. Silas set down his glass with a gentle tap, rising slowly, his limp evident as he moved toward her. His face softened, but not enough to hide the years carved into his features. "You look… different," he said, voice gravelly but steady. She gave a faint nod, eyes flickering with memories she had tried to bury. "Same to you." He extended a hand, but she stepped in first, hesitating before settling into a brief, tense hug that seemed to stretch longer than it should. When they parted, she noticed the slight tremor in his grip. "Been a while," Silas murmured, voice low. "Too long," Rory responded, voice steady, though her hands itched to clasp her own arms. The weight of their silence pressed on her. She glimpsed the faint scar on her wrist, hidden beneath her sleeve, a remnant of childhood reckless curiosity and later, her escape from chaos. She found an empty seat beside him, and after a quiet nod, he nodded back, signaling to the bartender. Silas ordered a bourbon and a water, a ritual she’d seen before, as if trying to settle old ghosts. “So,” he finally said, taking a slow sip. "What brings you back here?" "Work." She shrugged, feeling a little hollow. "A friend mentioned you’re still running this place. Thought I’d say hello." He studied her face, the cool brightness of her eyes, the way her shoulder-length black hair framed her face. “You’ve changed,” he said softly. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Life does that.” He flicked a look toward the wall behind her, where a faded photo captured a younger Rory, grinning with reckless abandon, arms around friends at some dusk-lit pub. The girl in the picture looked joyful, unburdened. The woman sitting beside him looked distant, guarded, her eyes holding stories she hadn’t yet shared. “Time doesn’t always forgive,” Silas said, voice low. “And some things you can’t take back.” She turned to face him fully. “Is that what you’re saying? That I should have stayed the same?” He chuckled softly, noting her defensiveness. “No, Rory. Just… that the past shapes us. Sometimes cuts deeper than we like to admit.” She looked away, fingering the small crescent-shaped scar on her wrist. “Maybe. Or maybe I just got tired of pretending I wasn’t running from myself.” Silas studied her, knowing the story was hiding behind her words. Her bright blue eyes, the way she carried herself with that quiet confidence, masked a well-worn sorrow. She’d always been sharp, quick to adapt, but now her edges seemed sharpened even further. “You’re not here to relive old memories,” he said softly. “Could say I’m here to make new ones,” she replied, voice sharper than intended. He nodded, understanding the undertow of her words. “You’ve come a long way from Cardiff. Not many would’ve survived what you did.” “Surviving’s all I’ve managed.” She paused, searching his face. “I heard you opened this place. Figured you’d given up the spy stuff.” He chuckled dryly. “Retired but not gone. Keeps the mind busy, I suppose.” “Like a front,” Rory guessed. He smiled gently, a flicker of pride in his hazel eyes. “Maybe. Keeps me involved without getting into too much trouble.” She looked around, the memories flooding thick. She wondered if he sensed the ghosts that haunted her, or if she’d built these walls so high she was lonely even in a crowd. Silas leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “You look different, Rory. More than just the scars. There’s something else behind those eyes now.” She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she took a long breath, as if to steady herself. When she finally spoke, it was quiet, deliberate. “I’ve learned to protect myself better since we last met. That’s all.” He studied her without judgement. “That’s what we all do, in the end.” The bartender placed their drinks on the table, and Rory reached out, taking the glass of water. The whiskey sat untouched for a moment, a silent witness to their exchanged truths. “You ever think about going back?” Silas asked suddenly. She looked at him sharply. “Back where?” He shrugged, gaze drifting towards the photographs on the wall, as if remembering a different life. “To the old days. Before all this.” His hand swept vaguely at the bar, the city beyond. She hesitated, the muscles in her jaw tightening. “I don’t think I belong there anymore.” He nodded, slowly, as if weighing her words. “Good. Maybe that’s for the best.” For a moment, neither spoke. The distant hum of the bar rebounded softly around them, thick with unspoken regrets and silent acknowledgements. Outside, the London night pressed on in its endless murmur, but inside, the space between them held a different kind of quiet — full of stories still waiting to be told.