Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRCDWAYTY2PJQV8Y02B9QZ

Aurora stepped into The Raven’s Nest, the rush of damp November air following her through the doorway. The green neon sign outside cast a faint, eerie glow across the worn wooden floorboards, pooling in shallow hues around scattered tables. That familiar musky blend of whisky, old smoke, and aged paper hit her like a wave, heavier somehow than when she’d last been here. The bar had changed little, but the weight she carried now egged everything on, deepening the shadows that pooled in the corners. Silas stood behind the polished counter, wiping a glass slowly. His gaze flicked up, eyes catching hers with the same hazel sharpness she remembered, though the spark seemed tempered by time and cautious calculation. The limp had worsened, but the neat, grey-streaked auburn beard, the silver ring glinting on his right hand — all unmistakable. Aurora’s breath caught. “Silas?” He paused, fingers curling tighter around the glass. “Rory.” The name slipped out low, with something like surprise, maybe hesitation. The years between them stretched taut like an invisible thread, the familiar sound of the old nickname tugging at frayed edges of a past that neither could quite touch. “You look…” She stopped, searching his face, trying to find the words. “Different.” He gave a dry chuckle, setting the glass down with a measured click. “The years have a way of doing that,” he said, voice gravelly but steady. “And you. You haven’t changed so much as… drifted.” She could feel the accusation beneath it. Not sharp, more like a settling dust that still stung if breathed in too long. “I left,” she said flatly. “Left Cardiff, left everything. Couldn’t stand the weight anymore.” Silas nodded slowly, stepping from behind the bar to stand a little straighter despite the limp. “I heard about Evan.” His eyes didn’t falter. “I’m sorry, Rory.” Pain twisted briefly in Aurora’s chest. She bit the inside of her cheek, blinking quickly to clear the sting. “Well, that’s the past.” Her voice cracked, then steadied. “But it still chases me.” He gestured toward one of the worn leather chairs near the back. “Come. Sit.” Aurora hesitated, then moved across the room, the sound of her boots hollow on the wood. She settled into the chair, arms folding tightly across her chest, the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist momentarily exposed in the dim light. “You always did wear your scars like medals,” Silas remarked, sliding into the seat opposite her. She narrowed her eyes. “That’s a new one.” “Not new. Just something I noticed.” His gaze sharpened. “You’re not the same girl I used to know. You carry things, Rory. More than you show. Even then, back when you were all fire and defiance.” The words stirred something bitter in her. “Fire burned me up.” She looked away, staring intently at the peeling posters on the far wall. “I thought running would fix it.” Silas watched her quietly. “Blind running never fixes anything.” “Did you think I’d come back here? To see you?” Aurora’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. He shrugged, but there was no mistaking the tense awareness in his posture. “Maybe in another life. Or maybe when the ghosts began crowding too close.” The bar grew quieter as the night thickened, the murmur of other patrons fading into background noise. Aurora’s fingers drummed nervously on her knee. “It’s strange,” she said after a pause, “how time stretches the moments we wanted to leap past, like they’re tied to us by chains we can’t break.” Silas nodded. “Regret is a stubborn companion. But you don’t have to bear it alone.” “I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore.” Her voice cracked, and she quickly took a breath. “I left law school. Quit the career my parents wanted for me. Thought I’d find something else. Did deliveries at the Golden Empress. A disguise, maybe. To forget who I was supposed to be.” He reached forward, resting his silver-ringed hand just on the edge of the table, inches from hers but not quite touching. “You’re not forgetting. You’re surviving. And that counts.” Aurora looked up, something unspoken aching between them — years of missed chances, words unsaid. Her bright blue eyes, sharp and unyielding, softened for a moment. “Do you ever think about those nights we spent here? Before you disappeared? Before the world shifted?” “The things we said, the plans we made...” Silas shook his head slowly. “Different people now. But those nights were real, Rory. More real than anything I’ve seen since.” She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “I remember you swearing you’d never let me walk away alone.” His smile was faint, shadowed. “I tried.” The limp pressed into his voice. “Sometimes the past catches you anyway.” “I thought if I came back,” she said, “I could find a piece of what we lost. I guess I didn’t expect to find you like this.” Her gaze flicked over his worn face, the signs of battles fought beyond the bar walls. Silas leaned back, eyes reflective. “Life has a way of reshaping us, whether we want it to or not. Maybe what matters is what we do with the pieces left over.” Aurora swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of that, the years of silence pressing in around them like walls made of glass. She traced the scar on her wrist with her thumb, mumbling, “I never thought I’d see you again.” “Neither did I,” he admitted, voice grim. Then, after a beat, “But maybe that’s why you’re here. Not to find the past, but to decide what comes next.” The bar’s quiet hum filled the space between their words. Outside, the neon sign buzzed softly, casting green shadows that flickered like ghosts between them. Aurora exhaled slowly. “So, what’s next, Silas?” “Depends on you, Rory.” He smiled—small, uncertain but real. “Are you ready to stop running?”