AI **Chapter 1: A Shot of Regret **
Rory's eyes met Silas' in the mirror behind the bar, a fleeting glance before she turned back to the whiskey-soaked conversation with a stranger. The Raven's Nest was never this lively on a Tuesday. She had just begun to enjoy the anonymity when a voice, once as familiar as her own, sliced through the din.
"Aurora, lovely to see you're still alive."
Rory's gaze drifted to the entrance, where a man stood, shedding the London drizzle like a spectral presence. His eyes, an unsettling shade of hazel, sparkled with a knowing glint , and for a moment, she was 19 again, sharing late-night laughter and dreams with this very person. But the man before her now was a stranger, carved from the same marble as her childhood friend, Evan.
"Evan?" The name felt like a betrayal on her lips, given the man she'd fled from just a few years ago shared the same name. This, however, was Finnley Walker, her confidant from Cardiff days, now draped in a tailored suit that seemed to swallow his lean frame whole .
Finnley slid onto the stool beside her, his presence commanding the bartender's immediate attention. "Whiskey. Neat. And whatever the lady's having, another round, please."
The bartender, accustomed to Silas' discerning clientele, raised an eyebrow but poured the drinks without a word.
Rory turned to Finnley, a mixture of curiosity and wariness swirling in her chest. "Finnley Walker. As I live and breathe. Or perhaps not, considering the... makeover." She gestured vaguely towards his attire, the polished shoes, and the haircut that framed his face with precision.
Finnley chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that was new, like the rest of him. "Life's been good, Rory. Very good." He sipped his whiskey, his eyes never leaving hers. "And you? Still delivering food and casting dreams aside?"
The jab, thinly veiled as a question, landed with the precision of a slap. Rory's smile, a defense mechanism honed over years, faltered for a moment before she regained composure. "Delivering food, yes. Casting dreams? I've just become more... focused on immediate gratification."
Silas, who had been observing the exchange with interest, now intervened, his voice smooth as the whiskey he poured. "Finnley, been a while. What brings you to our humble abode tonight?"
Finnley's gaze lingered on Rory before shifting to Silas, a hint of a smiles playing on his lips. "Just passing through, Silas. Old haunts, new faces. Although, some faces are remarkably consistent." He turned back to Rory, his expression softening. "We have a lot to catch up on, don't we, Rory? Years to fill in."
The tension between them was palpable , a living, breathing entity that fed on unspoken words and unresolved sentiments. Rory felt the weight of those years, each one a brick added to the wall she'd constructed around her heart.
"I'm not sure where to begin," Rory admitted, her voice barely above a whisper , as if the noise of the bar might drown out the vulnerability.
Finnley leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Begin with why you ran, Rory. From everything and everyone. Including me, without so much as a goodbye."
The accusation, cloaked in gentle curiosity, stung. Rory's defenses flared, but before she could muster a retort, Silas inserted himself into the conversation once more.
"Perhaps this isn't the best place for such... nuanced discussions. My office?" He stood, his slight limp a reminder of stories untold, and gestured towards the hidden room behind the bookshelf.
Without waiting for their response, Silas led the way, the green neon sign of The Raven's Nest casting an eerie glow on the damp pavement outside as they stepped into the narrower, more sinister shadows of the past.
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**Inside Silas' Office **
The room was dimly lit, the only sound the soft hum of the computer and the creak of old leather as they settled into the chairs. Finnley, with an air of familiarity, poured himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter on Silas' desk, offering none to the others.
"Continue, Finnley," Silas prompted, his eyes fixed intently on the man across from him, a silent warning to tread carefully .
"Where were we, Rory? Ah yes, your abrupt departure. One day, you were talking about changing the world with your art; the next, you were gone. No explanation. Just a void."
Rory fidgeted, the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist aching with a phantom pain. "It was complicated, Finnley. I needed a fresh start."
"Complicated?" Finnley echoed , his voice laced with skepticism. "You were running from Evan, from the pressure of your parents' expectations, from the fear of not making it as an artist. But from me? From our friendship?"
The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in with the weight of unspoken regret. Rory's eyes met Finnley's, and for a fleeting moment, they were back in Cardiff, two youths with the world at their feet.
"I was running from myself, Finnley. From the fear of not being enough, no matter where I turned. And in the chaos, I lost grip of everything that truly mattered," Rory confessed, the words tearing free from the vault she'd sealed years ago.
Finnley's face, a mask of composure, betrayed him for a moment, a flicker of pain crossing his features before he looked away, towards the window, where the city pulsed with a life of its own.
Silas, ever the silent observer, leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the pair, as the night wore on, unraveling threads of a tapestry thought to be forever frayed.
And then, just as it seemed the night couldn't grow any thicker with tension , a knock at the door sliced through the heavy air.
"Enter," Silas called out, his voice even.
The door creaked open, and a figure, drenched from the rain, stood at the threshold, eyes locking onto Rory with a mix of urgency and fear.
"Rory, I've been looking everywhere for you. It's Eva. She's gone missing."