Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR2D3ZBSJ54YGWRNR73MTG

Aurora Carter pushed open the door to The Raven’s Nest, the familiar scent of aged wood and smoky malt curling around her like an old coat. The room was quieter than most nights, shadows stretching long across the walls, punctuated only by the flickering green neon sign above the entrance. She tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear, bright blue eyes scanning the dimly lit space for anything or anyone familiar. She hoisted her delivery bag higher on her shoulder, eyes settling on the bar’s polished surface, scattered with bottles and a few half-empty glasses. Silas was there, as he always was, leaning back against the bar with one arm lazily draped over the counter. He looked up the moment she entered, a slow narrowing of hazel eyes breaking his usual stoic expression. He didn’t move from his seat until she approached, pushing her way through a few of the quieter patrons, her boots scraping softly on the wooden floor. “You’ve got some nerve, Rory,” he said, voice low and gravelly, half a chuckle tucked into the words. She stopped a few feet away, hesitating only a moment. “You’re harder to find these days.” He tilted his head, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been careful. Not everyone makes a habit of looking.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, the scars from her past flickering behind her eyes—childhood accidents, reckless choices, all buried beneath layers of cool detachment. “I thought the spy stuff was supposed to stay secret.” His gaze sharpened, the weight of unspoken years pressing down on the space between them. “Some secrets don’t stay buried—no matter how much you want them to.” She studied him, noting the years etched into his face—the lines around his eyes, the slight stoop of his shoulders, the way his hands, usually steady and confident, twitched slightly before settling on the bar. “Still the same old Silas,” she said softly. He finally pushed off from the bar, limping slightly as he moved toward her. “You’ve changed, Rory. Or should I say Carter now?” “Less reckless, maybe. More cautious. London does that to a person.” She gestured vaguely, her fingers lingering on her wrist with the small crescent scar. “Things I wanted to forget, I keep close now.” He stepped closer, examining her face. “And what do you want now? Out of all the years?” She looked away briefly, then met his gaze again. “I don’t want to pretend we’re still the same. But I needed to see you. Sometimes the past hits you out of nowhere.” “Yeah,” Silas said quietly, “those of us with a past tend to carry it around like a brick wall. Keeps people out. Keeps the bad memories quiet.” She nodded, her throat tightening. “That’s why I came here. I thought I’d find some answer in the bottom of a glass.” He reached behind the bar and poured two shots, sliding one toward her. “To old friends. To not forgetting everything too fast.” She raised her glass, the cool metal grounding her. “To memories we can’t erase.” They clinked glasses, the sharp sting of whiskey warming her throat. Her voice dropped, hesitant. “You’ve been quiet. Seen a lot. Changed.” He chuckled softly, rubbing his beard. “Spent years chasing ghosts. Worked as a spy, Rory. Things don’t stay static. Or maybe they do, and we just grow used to the shadows.” She looked down at her own glass, then back at him. “I used to think I could outrun everything. But the past has a way of catching up. Fast.” Silas’s smile faded, replaced by a quiet seriousness. “You always knew how to run, but sometimes you had to stand still. Or face what’s waiting.” Without warning, her mouth twitched into a slight smile. “Did you ever find what you were looking for?” He paused, as if weighing old memories. “Sometimes in the right direction. Sometimes just in the silence.” The hum of the room was almost loud in her ears. She looked around, observing the photographs on the walls—old black-and-white images of Soho, of faces she didn’t recognize, of nights she’d never remember clearly. A long silence followed, thick but oddly comforting. Then, softly, she spoke, “I’ve been running for so long, Silas. From Evan, from myself. This city’s gotten colder, even as it’s gotten brighter.” He leaned on the bar, the weight of his years pressing into his features. “London’s a mirror. Reflects what we put into it. It’s no warmer than where you run from, Rory.” She swallowed a lump, gaze fixed on her half-empty glass. “I thought I’d be different by now. Braver, maybe. Less afraid of what I might turn into.” “You ain’t run out of fear yet,” he said, voice rough but gentle. “If you’re here, it means you still care about what’s behind the door.” She looked up, a flicker of defiance flashing in her eyes. “Sometimes you’ve got to confront your demons, or they take over. You ever feel like you’re just waiting for the moment when everything falls apart?” He met her eyes, a spark of something unreadable. “Not waiting. Preparing. That’s what the quiet’s for.” Her hand brushed the scar on her wrist, a flicker of memory flashing. “This was a kid’s mistake—a reckless move I probably should’ve learned from by now.” “You’re still here,” Silas noted, voice softer now. “That says a lot.” A tap on the bar drew their attention—a young man in a leather jacket, leaning in close. Tossing a wink, he ordered a round. Silas nodded, motioning for the bartender. Aurora watched him, the warmth of the whiskey dulling the sharp edges of her thoughts. “What’s next for you, Silas?” He shrugged, eyes darkening with something unspoken. “Don’t know. Maybe I’ll keep running the bar. Maybe I’ll get back into the game for real. Or maybe I’ll just sit here and listen to ghosts.” “And me?” He looked at her again, a half-smile returning. “Whatever you’re chasing, Rory, don’t forget you’re stronger than the past. You always were.” She offered a small, wary smile. “Thanks, Silas.” He gently clapped her shoulder, hobbling slightly. “Good to see you again. Don’t be a stranger.” She turned toward the door, hesitating, then looked back. “Guess I needed to hear that.” As she stepped outside into the London night, the glow of the neon sign flickered, casting long shadows over her. The city, with all its ghosts and promises, waited silently. She took a deep breath, the taste of whiskey lingering on her tongue, carrying the weight of years and unspoken regrets—ready to face whatever came next.