Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRMNZMG7SR8XGDK21DV6Z1

The Raven's Nest pulsed to the soft thud of bass, drowning the chatter of its patrons in a cocoon of warm light and a heady mix of spirits. Aurora Carter perched on a stool, her black hair, sleek and straight, framed her bright blue eyes that scanned the room with a mix of curiosity and nostalgia. She wrapped her fingers around her glass, swirling the amber liquid as the bitter memories of the past floated just beneath the surface like ghosts. Silas Blackwood stood behind the bar, his hazel eyes catching the glimmer of the neon green sign outside, a beacon for souls seeking solace in anonymity. He polished the fine glassware with methodical precision, the slight limp in his left leg shifting his weight. The faint sound of laughter drew his gaze to the entrance, where the door swung open, introducing the chilly night air. A figure slipped in, a tall silhouette against the dark. Aurora's heart jolted. She recognized him immediately—the posture, the sharp jawline, the familiar confidence. Peter. He shook off the cold, glancing over the bar, unaware that Aurora’s keen attention had fastened on him like a hawk. Time had sculpted him; broad shoulders filled his coat, and though his hair went a touch greyer, the same charisma radiated from his presence. She hadn’t seen him since they graduated. Had it been seven years? Life spiraled rapidly since those care-free days. “Rory?” Peter’s voice carried across the bar, disbelief coloring his tone as he navigated through the crowd. “Peter.” Aurora’s lips curved, but beneath it lay a ripple of uncertainty. A million memories flooded back, tangled with what she had become since they last met—since everything that had happened. He approached, a tentative smile breaking through his initial shock. “I didn’t expect to find you here, of all places.” “What brings you back to London?” She kept her voice light, but her heart drummed unevenly in her chest. “Work. Just passing through.” He leaned against the bar, close enough for her to catch the distinct scent of his cologne—woodsy and warm—familiar and foreign all at once. “I thought it was a myth, this place.” “It’s a good bar. Silas runs a tight ship.” “Silas…” He glanced around, taking in the dim lighting and the eclectic decor. “The Spymaster himself. Of course. You always had a knack for finding the interesting places.” Aurora toyed with her glass, her mind racing. They had been inseparable once, sharing secrets and dreams over late-night conversations. But life had frayed their bond. She recalled the sudden shift in Peter's life—his job on the other side of the world, the silence that followed, the ache of distance. “Been well?” he asked, breaking the quiet that hung between them. “Survived,” she replied, the shadows creeping into her gaze. “Survived?” His brow furrowed, concern flickering in his eyes. “I’m back to studying law.” Her voice flickered as she touched the crescent scar on her wrist—a constant reminder of her childhood, her past. “Been working odd jobs. Delivery mostly.” “Delivery. Right. That’s... interesting.” He shifted, glancing at the bar as if searching for answers among the bottles. “Yeah, you know, life.” She forced a smile, trying to mask the memories where they used to discuss future ambitions while sipping cheap wine in her broken-down flat. Peter nodded, his gaze slipping back to her with a intensity that made her uncomfortable. “You look... different.” “Different how?” She stiffened, defensive instinct kicking in. “Stronger,” he clarified, his eyes narrowing with sincerity. “More real. I guess I wasn’t expecting...” “Someone to survive?” She cut him off, the sting of old wounds flaring. “People change, Peter.” “Of course, they do.” He arched an eyebrow, worry etching deeper forms into his face. “Look, I didn’t mean to—” “But you did,” she snapped, the sharpness of her voice ricocheting through the bar. “Right.” He held up his hands, surrendering to her provocation. The brief silence felt heavier, laden with words left unspoken. They paused, studying one another as old friends reconvened in a new reality. Her chest tightened as the whirlwind of emotions threatened to spill over, memories colliding with the present. “You remember the last time we saw each other?” he ventured, eyes reflecting regret. “Yeah.” The moment unraveled in her mind like a film. Their last night together had shimmered with the wild exhilaration of youth, free of the weight they now carried. They had bared the enthralling dreams of their futures. But silence loomed afterward, suffocating. Peter’s new job had moved him to the States, while Aurora drifted, a lost ship without its anchor. “That’s ancient history.” She brushed off the topic with a wave, dismissing the nostalgia like smoke. “Is it?” He leaned closer, sincerity threading through his voice. “Maybe it shouldn’t be.” “I’ve changed.” Her fingers tapped the bar rhythmically, the beat echoing her pulse. “You said it yourself. So have you." “Not who I wanted to become.” His fingers flicked nervously at the edge of the bar, revealing how thoughts tangled beneath his calm exterior. “I thought it was what I wanted. But running from everything...” “You left,” she replied, the words tumbling out sharper than intended. “You didn’t look back.” “I thought you’d be okay,” he countered, clenching his jaw. “I thought you’d thrive in Cardiff. You were always the strong one.” “Strong?” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “I ran from Cardiff, remember? I fled from everything, including—” She cut herself off as the mention of Evan threatened to spill out. “From Evan?” Peter’s brows shot up, surprise blending with concern. “Are we going to drag past mistakes into this?” She swallowed down the revelation, shaking her head. “You don’t get to throw stones from that glass house you built.” “I’m here now, Rory. I want to know you.” His voice dropped, raw and urgent. “Know me?” The challenge sent heat rushing through her. “The real me or the version of me you created when you left?” “I never left because of you,” he fired back, frustration mingling with an undercurrent of something softer. “It was the job, the opportunity—I thought it would mean something.” “What did it mean?” She leaned in, probing into the cracks of his facade. “You achieved your dreams, but at what cost?” They remained in that moment, two old friends unraveling years of unspoken regret. Shadows flickered in the bar as patrons laughed and talked around them. But here, it felt like time stood still, the weight of their silence hanging between them like heavy curtains. “Silas!” A lean patron called from the other side of the bar, breaking their confrontation. Silas leaned in, ear bent toward the shout, glancing over with a slight frown. “Got to run the bar, Rory. Can we—?” “Yeah, we can,” she interrupted, the edge of her remark draped in resignation. She rubbed her wrist, the gesture almost instinctive, a plea for reassurance. He watched her, moments ticking away like uneasy hands on a clock, then inclined his head slightly. “Meet me later? We can... talk properly.” “What would be the point?” She met his gaze defiantly. “Because I want to understand,” he responded, earnestness flickering in his eyes. “I’m still figuring myself out.” The quiet rushed back, layering tension anew. “Some things have to be faced, Rory. Don’t shut the door now.” Decisions clashed inside her mind, flaring against the backdrop of the bar’s muted sounds. “Fine,” she said finally, the word hanging between them like a bridge. “We’ll talk later.” Peter mirrored her resignation, caught in the pull of old ties, histories interwoven on this unexpected night. The music thrummed on, oblivious to the dancing ghosts of their shared past.