Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQVV2JSPF9QEV5VV1SJT0S

The neon sign of *The Raven’s Nest* flickered above the door like a dying ember, casting long shadows across the polished wood of the bar’s floor. The air smelled of aged whiskey and damp wool, the kind of scent that clung to a place long after its last customer left. Aurora Carter—Rory, to those who knew her—paused outside the entrance, her fingers brushing the scar on her wrist, the one she’d earned from a childhood accident. She hadn’t been here in years. Not since the night she’d left London without a word, without even a goodbye. Silas Blackwood stood behind the bar, his back to her, his hand resting on the silver signet ring that always gleamed against his skin. He didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. The way his shoulders hunched slightly, the way his limp made the floorboards creak beneath his weight, told her everything. She stepped inside. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the bar hummed to life. The kind of quiet that only exists when the world outside is too loud. The kind of quiet that makes you listen. The kind of quiet that makes you remember. Silas finally turned, his hazel eyes sharp as they locked onto hers. His beard was longer now, his hair streaked with grey, but his face was still sharp, still unreadable. He didn’t smile. Didn’t ask how she’d been. He just waited. Aurora exhaled, the breath curling around her like smoke. She’d been waiting for this. Waiting for the way his voice would crack, the way his hands would tremble when he reached for a glass. She’d been waiting for the way his eyes would burn into hers like they used to, like they had when they were younger, when they were still two people who could talk about anything, no matter how broken it made them feel. “You look different,” she said. Silas didn’t answer right away. He poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass, the amber liquid catching the light. “You too.” The bar was full now, the kind of full that meant people were talking over each other, laughing too loud, drinking too fast. But Rory didn’t mind. She didn’t need the noise. She needed this. “You still work here?” she asked. Silas set the glass down with a quiet clink. “Same as always.” “And you still run things.” A flicker of something passed over his face—amusement, maybe. “You’re not the only one who’s changed.” She laughed, but it was hollow. “I’m not the one who left.” Silas didn’t deny it. He just watched her, his expression unreadable. “You should’ve called.” “And miss the chance to see you?” The words hung between them, heavy as the whiskey in his glass. Rory reached for the door, but Silas grabbed her wrist before she could step outside. His grip was firm, his touch unexpected. “Don’t,” he said. She pulled back, her fingers brushing against the scar on her wrist again. “What’s that for?” “Because you’re not leaving.” The bar door swung open behind her, and Eva stepped inside, her dark eyes widening when she saw them. “Aurora! Silas! What the hell are you doing here?” Silas didn’t release her. “Eva’s been looking for you.” Eva’s mouth opened, but no words came. She just stared at them, her usual sharp wit gone, replaced by something raw and desperate. “You’re both here because of me.” Rory didn’t say anything. She just looked at Silas, at the way his eyes were dark with something she didn’t understand. At the way his hands were still around her wrist, like he couldn’t let her go. “Eva’s in trouble,” Silas said. “And she needs you.” The bar door slammed shut behind them. The noise of the crowd faded into the background, swallowed by the weight of what they were about to do. Rory’s breath came fast, her fingers digging into Silas’s wrist. “What do you mean, *in trouble*?” she asked. Silas didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, at the way her eyes were wide, at the way her hands were shaking. He pulled her closer, his voice low, his words sharp. “You remember what happened to Evan,” he said. Aurora’s stomach twisted. She remembered the way his hands had been around her throat, the way his voice had been a blade. She remembered the night she’d left, the way she’d run, the way she’d never looked back. “He’s dead,” she said. Silas didn’t say anything. He just watched her, his expression unreadable. The bar door swung open again, and a man in a suit stepped inside, his eyes locked onto Silas. “Blackwood. I need to speak to you.” Silas didn’t move. He just looked at Rory, at the way her eyes were burning with something she didn’t understand. At the way her hands were still shaking. “Go,” he said. She didn’t hesitate. She turned and ran. The bar door slammed shut behind her. The noise of the crowd faded into the background, swallowed by the weight of what she’d just done. Rory’s breath came fast, her fingers digging into the door handle, her heart pounding in her chest. She needed to go. She needed to get away from Silas, from the way his eyes were burning into hers, from the way his hands were still around her wrist. She didn’t look back. The neon sign flickered above the door, casting long shadows across the polished wood of the bar’s floor. The air smelled of aged whiskey and damp wool, the kind of scent that clung to a place long after its last customer left. Rory stepped outside, the cold air hitting her face like a slap. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t care. All she knew was that she had to get away from Silas, from the way his eyes were still burning into hers, from the way his hands were still around her wrist. She didn’t look back. The street was empty, the kind of empty that made you feel exposed, that made you feel like you were being watched. Rory’s breath came fast, her fingers brushing the scar on her wrist again. She didn’t know what she was running from. She didn’t know what she was running to. But she knew one thing. She had to leave.