AI
Thegreen neon sign blinked sluggishly above the door of The Raven’s Nest, casting a sickly glow onto the wet pavement outside. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of stale beer, ozone from the jukebox, and something faintly metallic that reminded Aurora Carter of old pennies. She pushed through the heavy oak door, the bell above it jangling a discordant welcome. The low hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses, enveloped her. She scanned the familiar faces—a regular nursing a pint, a couple whispering over cocktails, the bartender polishing a glass with a rag that smelled of lemon oil and something sharper. Her eyes, sharp and blue behind her glasses, missed nothing. They landed on the bar itself, where a familiar silhouette leaned against the polished mahogany, one hand resting casually on the worn surface, the other cradling a half-empty glass of amber liquid.
Silas Blackwood. The name, even after all these years, still carried a weight that made her breath hitch. She’d left London, fled it really , five years ago. Left behind the law degree she’d never finished, the suffocating expectations of her father, and most painfully, Evan. Evan, with his charming smile and simmering temper. She’d taken the first job that came along, a delivery driver for Yu-Fei Cheung’s Golden Empress, just to get out. The scar on her left wrist, a faint crescent moon, was a constant, ugly reminder of the night she’d slipped and cut herself on broken glass while trying to escape. It was a small price, she told herself, compared to the bruises she’d left behind.
Silas turned slowly, his movements deliberate, the slight limp in his left leg a permanent fixture now. His grey-streaked auburn hair was neatly combed, the neatly trimmed beard framing a face that held the same sharp intelligence, but now it was tempered by lines of weariness and a quiet sadness that hadn’t been there before. The silver signet ring on his right hand glinted in the dim light as he pushed himself upright. His hazel eyes, sharp as ever, fixed on her, assessing, recognizing. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Rory,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, the sound of it wrapping around her like a familiar , unwelcome blanket. “Long time, no see.”
She didn’t move closer, didn’t offer a hug. The years hadn’t erased the distance that had grown between them, the unspoken things that hung heavy in the air . “Silas,” she replied, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth it once held . “You look… well.”
“Getting by,” he said, pushing off the bar with a grunt that spoke of his injury. He walked towards her, the limp more pronounced now, the movement slow and controlled. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe. “You’ve changed, Rory. Not just the hair. You’re… quieter. Harder.”
She stiffened, the memory of Evan’s fists flashing behind her eyes. “Hardened,” she corrected, the word tasting bitter. “Necessary.”
He nodded, a slow, understanding nod. “Necessary.” He gestured vaguely towards a stool. “Sit. Have a drink. It’s been a long time.”
She hesitated, then slid onto the stool beside him. The worn leather groaned under her weight . The bar smelled of her, in a way. Of old books and secrets. “What are you doing here, Silas?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper . “Running a bar? That’s… unexpected.”
He took a slow sip of his drink, the amber liquid disappearing. “Unexpected is my middle name.” He leaned in slightly , lowering his voice further. “The bar is a front, Rory. A front for… other things. Like the old days, in a way.”
“The old days,” she echoed , the phrase tasting like ash. “You mean espionage? Spying?”
“Intelligence work,” he corrected, a flicker of pride in his eyes . “Same thing, different label.” He paused, studying her face. “You’ve been quiet too long, Rory. What happened? You vanished. No calls, no letters. Just… gone.”
She looked away, staring at the swirling liquid in her glass. The scar on her wrist pulsed , a phantom ache. “I had to go,” she said finally, the words coming out raw . “I couldn’t… stay.”
“Evan?” he guessed, his voice gentle but insistent . “He wasn’t good for you.”
She didn’t deny it. “He wasn’t anything,” she admitted, the admission heavy. “He was… a storm. And I was just a leaf.” She took a shaky breath. “I left everything behind. My life, my name, my… Rory.”
Silas’s hand, rough and calloused, rested on the bar between them. “You left me too, Rory. After all these years, you just… disappeared. No goodbye. No explanation.”
“There wasn’t one,” she whispered. “Not that you’d understand. Not anymore.”
“Understand?” he scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him . “I understand more than you think. I saw the signs. The way you’d flinch when someone raised their voice. The way you’d look over your shoulder. I tried to help, Rory. I tried to pull you back before it was too late.”
“Too late,” she repeated, her voice thick with unshed tears . “It was always too late for me, Silas. With Evan… or with anything. I was just… broken.” She pushed her glass away, the movement abrupt. “I’m sorry I left you hanging. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”
Silas’s expression softened, the lines around his eyes deepening. “You don’t need to apologize to me, Rory. Not anymore.” He took another sip, the silence stretching between them, thick and uncomfortable. “You look tired. Worn down. Like you’re carrying a weight you can’t bear.”
“I am,” she confessed, the truth spilling out . “Every day. The delivery job, the flat above the bar… it’s just… noise. Background chatter. I feel… invisible. Like I’m not really here anymore.”
“That’s not you,” Silas said firmly, his hazel eyes locking onto hers . “That’s the ghost of who you used to be. The Rory who ran away. The Rory who thought she could escape her past by running.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper . “But you can’t outrun it, Rory. Not really . Not forever. Not even here, in this bar, with me.”
She stared into her empty glass, the reflection showing a face she barely recognized – the sharp cheekbones, the blue eyes dulled by fatigue, the scar a stark reminder of the past she thought she’d left behind. “What am I supposed to do, Silas?” she asked, the question hanging in the air, heavy with despair . “Just… disappear again? Start over? But where? What if Evan finds me?”
Silas’s signet ring glinted as he tapped it against the bar. “You don’t have to disappear. You can fight. You can… be Rory again. The Rory who thought outside the box, who saw possibilities others missed. You still have that spark, I think. I saw it just now, when you walked in. That quick, sharp mind.”
“It’s buried under delivery schedules and rent payments,” she countered, a bitter laugh escaping her . “Under the fear.”
“Fear is just another obstacle,” he said, his voice gaining strength . “One you’ve overcome before. Remember Cardiff? Remember the time you…?” He trailed off, a knowing look in his eyes.
“I remember,” she said, a flicker of her old self, the quick-witted Rory, flashing in her gaze. “I remember.”
“Then fight,” Silas urged, his voice firm . “Don’t let the past define you. Don’t let the fear win. You’re stronger than you think, Rory. Stronger than you believe.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, the man who’d been her mentor, her friend, her failed protector. The man who’d seen her at her worst and still offered a hand. The weight of time, the unspoken regret, the ghost of Evan, and the ghost of the Rory she’d been – they all pressed down on her. But for the first time in years, she didn’t feel utterly alone. She felt… seen. And for a moment, the sharp, quick mind she’d buried beneath the delivery uniform flickered back to life, a spark of defiance igniting in her blue eyes. “Okay,” she said, her voice stronger now, the old confidence returning, tempered but present. “Okay. I’ll fight. For me. For Rory.”
Silas nodded, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face, reaching his eyes. “That’s my girl.” He raised his glass. “To Rory, back in the game.”
She met his gaze, the green neon sign outside flickering like a promise. “To Rory,” she echoed, the word feeling strange and new on her tongue . The past wasn’t gone, the fear wasn’t vanished, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she might just be able to carry it. Together.