Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR27SKDB7QET0V8H70AJ77

Aurora Carter stepped into The Raven’s Nest with a hesitant breeze of air, her coat collar pulled high against the damp London evening. The warm glow of the green sign flickered softly, catching her eye as she pushed through the heavy door, letting it swing shut behind her. Inside, the dim lighting cast long shadows across the walls, where maps and photographs hung like silent witnesses to forgotten stories. She paused in the entryway, nostrils flaring as she took in the familiar mix of leather and spiced whiskey. Her eyes darted around, searching for someone she’d never quite felt at home with anymore. The bar was busy but not crowded, the hum of subdued conversations blending into a steady rhythm. Her boots found a spot near the counter, and she gave a quick, instinctive glance at the seated figures. Then she saw him—Silas Blackwood—already perched on a barstool, a glass half-emptied in front of him. His face, lined but steady, seemed somewhat softer than she remembered, though the hazel eyes still held that quiet, calculating edge. She hesitated for a beat before approaching, her fingers tightening on the strap of her bag. As she moved closer, her heart skipped briefly—years had carved their mark on her, transforming her from the girl she’d once been. She reached the bar and cleared her throat, voice rough from disuse. “Silas?” He turned slowly, eyes narrowing just a fraction, like he’d been expecting her without knowing what shape she’d take. Recognition flickered in his gaze. His lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, or maybe it was just a reflex. “Well, if it isn’t Rory,” he said, voice gravelly but dry. “Been a while.” She took a breath, unwrapping her scarf, feeling the years weight heavy on her shoulders. “Yeah. Too long.” Silas scooted to the side, nodding toward the empty stool beside him. “Join me?” She hesitated, then pulled out a chair, sliding onto it with a stiffness she thought she’d left behind. The silence stretched for a second, filled only by the subtle clink of glassware and the low murmur of a saxophonist somewhere in the back. He studied her for a moment, no longer the young woman who’d once run wild through London with reckless abandon. Her shoulders bore stories he knew nothing about, her eyes wary but sharp, haunted perhaps. “So,” Silas finally broke the quiet, voice low, almost cautious. “What brings you back here?” She glanced down at her hands, fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “An old friend. I was passing through and thought… hell, I don’t know what I thought.” He chuckled softly, a sound not entirely pleasant. “That’s the trouble with old friends. They tend to show up when you least expect it, and change your expectations.” Rory looked up, meeting his gaze, and saw the flicker of memories—the young, bright-eyed girl she’d once been, and the man who’d seemed like the anchor of her drifting ship. Now, he looked different, haunted in quiet ways, like he carried secrets beneath his calm exterior. “You look good,” she said, voice softer than she intended. He shrugged, fingering the signet ring on his right hand. “Life’s a series of quiet compromises.” “Yeah?” Her lips tugged into a half-smile. “I’d say it’s more like a constant fight to keep from falling apart.” His eyes softened, just slightly. “And yet, here we are—both still standing.” She sensed a distant, unspoken weight between them. Time had done things to them neither of them openly acknowledged. She knew what she’d become—someone determined to forge new paths, far from her past, from the violence of Evan, from the tangled web of regret and survival. And Silas? She wondered how much of him had remained intact beneath the veneer of the seasoned spy, how many memories haunted those hazel eyes when the bar was quiet. “Remember that night in Prague?” she asked, voice tentative. He raised an eyebrow. “How could I forget? You played that deadpan look pretty well, delivering that message right on cue.” She smirked. “You always had a knack for remembering the details that didn’t matter.” “Some things stick,” he muttered, then reached for his glass, swirling the amber liquid. “You disappeared after that.” “Had to.” He nodded slowly. “You slipped away, then reappeared in London like some ghost. Switched cities, lives, identities—whatever you call it, your ghosting isn’t exactly a secret anymore.” She looked down, her fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the bar. “I had to. You know how it is.” He leaned back, considering her with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I do. I’ve been running, too. Different reasons, same game.” They both knew the game they played—one of masks, half-truths, and delicate hope. She studied the lines carved into his face, the small limp in his walk, the weathered voice that carried stories he wasn’t sharing. “You look different,” she said softly. “Who do I look like?” he shot back, dry. “Someone’s seen too much.” Her voice cracked slightly but she pushed through. “A lot’s happened.” He paused, eyeing her with that quiet scrutiny. “You’re not the girl I used to know. That girl wouldn’t have run. She’d have fought her way out, made her own luck.” Aurora’s eyes flicked to the glass in her hand, then back to him. “Maybe I did. Maybe I still do.” He nodded, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Luck’s a brutal mistress. You’re better at the game than most. Still got that quick mind of yours.” Her throat tightened. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve become something I don’t recognize.” Silas met her gaze again, steady as always. “We all do. That’s the deal with time. It erases some things, leaves others scarred. You look like you carry that weight well.” She reached for her glass, her fingers trembling slightly. “I’ve had worse fights than this.” He looked at her, the faintest trace of regret crossing his face, then looked away, spotting a familiar figure across the room. “Tell me,” he said quietly, “what’s the last thing you wanted to leave behind?” She hesitated, then answered simply, “Haven’t decided yet.” Outside, the rain tapped softly against the windows, mirroring the quiet storm inside them. Neither of them spoke again, just sat there, shadows of the past flickering behind their eyes as the bar carried on around them.