Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRG2YAPCKZZQEW6XS88K92

The Raven's Nest buzzed quietly with its usual after-hours crowd; hushed murmurs floated over the clink of glasses. The distinctive green neon sign pulsed softly through the rain-slicked window, casting a ghostly glow on the mottled brick walls lined with sepia maps and framed black-and-white photographs of London’s shadows from decades past. Aurora Carter stepped in, her boots scraping against the worn wooden floor. The faint scent of aged whiskey and smoky tobacco wrapped around her, familiar and heavy. “Rory?” A voice came from the far corner, low and rough, stirring something she hadn’t heard in years. Aurora froze. The voice belonged to someone she hadn’t expected to find in a dim Soho bar, tucked above a city full of ghosts she thought she’d left behind. She turned slowly to see Silas Blackwood. Grey streaked his once reddish hair, and the sharp hazel eyes beneath heavy lids held a collection of stories—too many to tell in a single glance. His beard was neatly trimmed, matching the tidiness of his demeanour. The very sight of him pulled tension from somewhere deep in her chest. He carried himself with the quiet authority that never faded, though a slight limp in his left leg slowed his approach. “Silas.” Her voice cracked, a mixture of surprise and something heavier—something unspoken. He offered a small nod, eyes flicking to the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist as if marking time in the space between them. "Rory," he breathed in, “long time.” The bar’s low hum slipped behind words neither spoke outright. Aurora caught the familiar signet ring glinting in the dim light as Silas settled onto the stool beside her, slipping the limp as effortlessly as he might slip from one character to another. “A lot’s changed,” she said, eyes fixed on the amber liquid settling in her glass. Silas laughed softly, a sound catching between rueful and amused. “That much is clear.” She glanced at him, surprised to find the same sharp line of the jaw, the same set of shoulders, but with years that had worn in places, not out. “I never thought I’d see you here. Not in this part of town. Not like this.” He smiled, lips tightening, “Life isn’t a map. You don’t always follow the roads you planned.” He leaned forward, murmuring low, “What brought you to the Raven’s Nest after all these years?” “Work.” She said simply. “Part-time delivery. Trying to keep things stable.” Her eyes flicked back to the bar’s worn floorboards, like measuring distance she could never close. “And you?” He looked to the shadows between the tables, then back at her. “A retirement of sorts.” His voice softened. “The Nest’s a good place to disappear, or maybe to be found.” Her fingers brushed against the scar on her wrist, the small crescent a reminder of nights long ago when everything had seemed less tangled, if not simpler. She considered mentioning Evan—how she’d run, but the words clogged the space between memory and present, thickening the air. “Do you regret it?” The question slipped out before Aurora could stop it, her gaze catching his. Silas’s eyes narrowed, searching the darkness beyond her. “Regret’s a luxury reserved for the living.” He paused. “Sometimes it catches up when you least expect it. You?” Her laugh was bitter, sharp-edged. “Every day. But I don’t have time for luxuries.” He nodded, a gesture heavy with understanding. “I see the same spark in your eyes. Still fighting fires you carry alone.” “Not alone.” She looked at him then, raw and uncertain. “You always knew what to say to make it sound less lonely.” The silence stretched between them, filled with a thousand unsaid apologies and choices made. The memories came unbidden—the nights in quiet corners, strategy mapped in shadows, trust forged but frayed. “You’ve changed,” Silas finally said, watching her like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “I had to,” she said simply. “If I stayed the Rory you knew, I wouldn’t be here. Not really.” He smiled, a little sadly, “You think I haven’t changed? We both learned how to survive.” “Survive, yes,” she whispered, voice rough. “But at what cost?” Eyes flickering to the hidden bookshelf behind the bar, Silas shifted closer, voice softer now. “Time buries things, but it leaks too. Maybe it’s time to unearth some of those things between us.” She swallowed hard, debating the truths she’d sealed inside, the wounds barely scarred over. “It’s not just time, Silas. It’s the weight of what we left unsaid.” He rested his hand briefly near hers on the bar, a casual closeness that somehow anchored her. “We’re not the same people who walked out of those classrooms, those alleys. But maybe some part of us hasn’t moved on yet.” Aurora’s hand twitched, the scar burning faintly. “Maybe that’s why it hurts so much.” “Maybe it’s also why we meet again here, after all these years,” Silas murmured. The bar’s ambient chatter ebbed and flowed, wrapping around the pair like a shroud. No one else in the room mattered in that moment—just the old friends standing at a crossroads too long unattended. “Do you want to talk?” Silas asked, voice low. “I’m not sure I can.” She met his gaze, bright blue eyes steady. “Then maybe we listen instead.” His smile was gentle now, but with a steel edge. “No judgment. Just two people tangled in time.” Aurora nodded slowly, as if willing the years between them to unravel with a single knot. The night deepened around them, but inside The Raven’s Nest, under the green neon’s glow, the past and present began their quiet dialogue.