Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQVVMKBF19TN5GA1M7XGVW

The dim haze of cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint scent of spilled whiskey. The Raven’s Nest was quiet tonight, shadows stretching along the battered brick walls, maps, and photographs whispering tales of past exploits. A low hum of subdued conversations draped over the room’s thick silence, broken only by the clink of glassware and the faint squeak of a barstool shifting. Aurora Carter sat alone at the bar, her elbows resting on the scratched mahogany. She sipped her gin, the cool rush a distraction from the night’s quiet chaos. Her black hair caught the flickering neon glow, shadows dancing across her sharp features, bright blue eyes fixed on the flickering reflection in the glass. The scar on her wrist—it was a ghost today, numbed by routine. She didn’t look like someone who’d been through hell, or someone with secrets weighing her down. But beneath that calm exterior, she carried the kind of burden that made her quick to scan every corner, every shadow. The door swung open, and a gust of cold London air spilled into the room. The sign above the entrance flickered, casting an irregular green glow. No one paid it much mind. Then he stepped in. Silas Blackwood. He was older, his face lined and shadows around his eyes. A scar on the side of his jaw and the same grey streaks in his hair that had always marked him. He moved with a quiet authority, each step deliberate yet unhurried, until his hazel eyes caught hers. Aurora froze. It was like time had looped back—he’d been a mentor, a guide through shadowed worlds. Now, he looked like a stranger worn thin by years. He approached with a slow, measured gait, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He pulled out a stool, hesitating for a fraction of a second before sinking onto it. His gaze flicked over her face, then down to her hands. They stared at each other for a long beat before Aurora’s voice broke the silence. “You’ve changed a lot.” His lips quirked, a trace of that quiet humor still there. “Same can be said for you.” He paused. “London does things to people.” She lifted her glass, took a measured sip, then set it down carefully. “I don’t come here often anymore.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes flickered with suspicion, like she was still processing the years that had passed. He rubbed his beard, eyes drifting over the room. “It’s been a while. You look well. You look… different.” “I’ve had some time to think,” she said softly. Her fingers tapped the bar’s edge, a nervous tic she couldn’t quite shake. “Come here to forget a little. Forget the past, maybe.” “And that works?” She shot him a wry glance. “Not always. Sometimes it makes it worse.” Silas nodded, eyes shadowed with memories. “I’ve seen that look before. It’s the one that reminds you of what you’ve lost—what’s been taken or left behind.” His gaze sharpened. “You sure you want to talk about it?” Aurora hesitated, then leaned in. “There’s not much left to say. I left Cardiff chasing something I thought I wanted. Ended up here, running in circles. So yeah, I come in here, drown the noise.” He was silent for a moment, then lifted his ringed hand, showing her the silver signet. A subtle barrier, but somehow familiar now. “I know how that feels. Sometimes I think I’ve been running in circles since I retired. Still trying to make sense of what I left behind.” She looked away, a flicker of something darker crossing her face. “You always did know how to make the world sound simple, Silas.” “You’ve got your guard up. That’s good.” His voice was low, gravelly. “But down deep, you’re still the girl I knew—sharp, quick, ready to jump into the fire. Still carrying that scar?” She touched her wrist absently. “Reminds me I survived. Hard to forget when every day is a new challenge.” Her eyes softened. “Do you ever miss it? The thrill, the danger?” He chuckled softly. “Sometimes I miss the feeling of purpose. But not the cost. That’s what I carry now. The weight of it’s a heavier load than I ever expected.” A bartender approached, sliding two glasses across the bar, but neither reached for them immediately. Aurora watched Silas with a faint smile. “Guess we both paid for our choices somehow.” He leaned back, gaze drifting over the old photographs on the wall—images of a different life, a different moments. “Time’s pulled a lot out of us. Some of it I’d rather forget, some of it I wish I could hold on to.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t think I know who I am anymore. Not the way I used to.” Silas hesitated, then tapped the side of his glass. “Sometimes, all that matters is what you decide to become now. Not what’s been lost.” She looked down at her fingers, tracing a pattern on the worn wood. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the same story, different chapter.” He sighed, adjusting his collar. “Look, I know I shouldn’t keep you here, not after all these years. But if you ever want to talk or just forget everything for a while… you know where I am.” Aurora finished her drink, pushing it aside with a gentle clink. “Thanks, Silas. I’ll keep that in mind.” He nodded, rising slowly, limping slightly as he moved away. “Be safe, Rory. London’s a different beast now.” She watched him go, the weight of unspoken regrets settling like dust in her chest. The shadows danced a little more freely in the quiet corners of the bar, and she wondered how many more years it would take before she could breathe without looking over her shoulder.