Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQSH4C608XNQHPERCR4VWY

The Raven’s Nest hummed with the low murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses. Rory wiped her hands on her apron, the scent of fried garlic and soy sauce still clinging to her fingers. She’d just finished her shift at the Golden Empress, and the last thing she wanted was another hour on her feet. But Silas had texted—*Need to see you. Now.*—and that was that. She pushed through the heavy oak door, the green neon sign buzzing faintly above her. The bar was half-full, the usual crowd of journalists, off-duty cops, and the occasional suit who looked like he’d wandered in by mistake. Silas stood behind the counter, polishing a glass with a rag that had seen better days. His signet ring glinted under the dim light as he set the glass down. “You look like hell,” he said. Rory tossed her apron onto the counter. “Flattery won’t get you a free drink.” “Wasn’t trying for one.” He nodded toward the back. “We need to talk.” She followed him past the bookshelf that swung open with a creak, into the hidden room where the air smelled of aged whiskey and old secrets. Silas shut the door behind them, the lock clicking into place. Rory leaned against the table, arms crossed. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until morning?” Silas didn’t answer right away. He poured two fingers of bourbon into a glass and slid it toward her. She ignored it. “Evan’s back in town,” he said. The name hit like a punch to the ribs. Rory’s fingers twitched against her sleeves, her pulse kicking up. “How do you know?” “He was asking about you at the Golden Empress. Yu-Fei called me.” Rory exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled. “He’s not my problem anymore.” “Bullshit.” Silas’s voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of something unsaid. “You don’t just walk away from a man like that and pretend he doesn’t exist.” “Watch me.” Silas rubbed his thumb over the rim of his glass. “You used to tell me everything.” “That was before.” “Before what?” Rory’s jaw tightened. “Before I realized some things are better left buried.” Silas set the glass down with a sharp *clink*. “You think running away fixed anything? You think changing your name, your job, your *hair*—” His eyes flicked to the black strands that used to be auburn. “—made you someone else?” “It made me *safe*.” “Safe.” Silas scoffed. “You’re not safe. You’re just hiding.” Rory pushed off the table, her boots thudding against the floor as she paced. “What do you want from me, Silas? A confession? Fine. I was stupid. I trusted the wrong person. I let him convince me I was weak. Happy?” “No.” His voice was rough. “I’m not happy. I’m *pissed*. At him. At you. At myself.” Rory stopped. “What the hell do you have to be pissed about?” Silas’s fingers curled into a fist, his signet ring pressing into his palm. “I should’ve seen it. Should’ve *known*. You were different after you started dating him. Quieter. Jumpier. But I told myself you were just growing up, that you didn’t need me butting in.” He looked away, his throat working. “Then you left, and I let you. No questions. No fight. Just… let you go.” Rory’s chest ached. “It wasn’t your job to save me.” “Wasn’t it?” Silas met her gaze, his hazel eyes sharp with something she hadn’t seen in years—guilt. “I recruited you, Rory. Pulled you into this world. Then I stood by while it ate you alive.” She swallowed. “You didn’t know.” “I *should’ve*.” The silence between them was thick, heavy with all the things they’d never said. Rory’s fingers traced the crescent scar on her wrist, the one Evan had given her the night she left. The night she’d finally realized she wasn’t the girl who took shit lying down anymore. “He’s not going to leave me alone, is he?” she said. Silas shook his head. “Not if he’s already looking for you.” Rory exhaled, long and slow. “Then I guess I’ll have to remind him why he should.” Silas studied her, his expression unreadable. “You’re not the same girl who walked out of that flat three years ago.” “No,” Rory said. “I’m not.” He nodded, once, like he’d just confirmed something he already knew. “Good.” Outside, the bar’s front door swung open, the murmur of voices spilling in. Rory straightened, her shoulders squaring. “I should go.” Silas caught her wrist before she could turn away. His grip was firm, but not tight. “You’re not alone in this.” Rory looked down at his hand, at the signet ring that had once meant safety, stability. “I know.” He let her go. She walked out of the back room, past the bookshelf, past the counter where Silas stood watching her. The neon sign buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly green glow. The door to the Raven’s Nest closed behind her with a finality that felt like the end of something. Or the beginning.