Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYJAZ36E8SAN9YXW2CEWDG

The Raven’s Nest buzzed with its usual low hum of conversation, the dim light casting long shadows across the maps and photographs that lined the walls. Rory leaned against the bar, her fingers tracing the edge of her whiskey glass. The bartender had already retreated to the other end, leaving her to her thoughts. She’d come here to escape the noise of the flat upstairs, but the bar offered its own kind of static—less intrusive, perhaps, but still there. The door creaked open, and a gust of cool air swept in, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. Rory glanced up out of habit, her eyes catching on the figure stepping inside. Tall, with a familiar gait that wasn't quite right—something was off. He paused just inside the doorway, scanning the room with a practiced ease that sent a flicker of recognition through her. "Silas?" Her voice cut through the low murmur of the bar, louder than she intended. He turned, his hazel eyes landing on her, and for a moment, he seemed frozen. Then a slow smile spread across his face, softening the lines that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him. "Rory. Been a while." She gestured to the stool beside her, her heart skipping a beat as he limped over. The slight drag in his left leg was new, and she couldn’t help but notice the silver signet ring gleaming on his right hand. He settled onto the stool with a grunt, nodding to the bartender, who immediately began pouring a drink without a word. "You look... different," Rory said, her eyes tracing the streaks of grey in his auburn hair, the neatly trimmed beard that hadn’t been there before. "Eight years will do that to a person." He lifted the glass the bartender set in front of him, the amber liquid catching the light. "You haven’t changed much." She snorted, twisting her glass between her fingers. "Hardly." Silas studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp despite the warmth in his smile. "London treating you all right?" "It’s... London." She shrugged, her eyes flicking to the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist before she caught herself and looked away. "What about you? Still working?" "Retired," he said, his voice steady but with an edge she couldn’t quite place. "Opened this place a few years back. Thought it was time for something quieter." "Quieter?" She raised an eyebrow, glancing around the bar. "Doesn’t seem like your style." "Appearances can be deceiving." He took a sip of his drink, his gaze lingering on her. "You’re not in Cardiff anymore." She stiffened, her fingers tightening around her glass. "No." "Eva mentioned you’d moved here. Said you were working for Yu-Fei Cheung." "Delivery gig," she said quickly, her voice sharper than she intended. "It’s temporary." Silas nodded, his expression unreadable. "She also said you cut ties with Evan. Good move." Rory’s jaw tightened, and she took a long sip of her whiskey, the burn doing little to ease the knot in her chest. "Yeah, well, sometimes you don’t see the red flags until it’s too late." "Or until someone points them out." His voice was quiet, but the weight of it hung heavy between them. She looked at him, her bright blue eyes meeting his hazel ones. "You could’ve said something." "You weren’t ready to hear it." "Maybe not." She sighed, running a hand through her black hair. "But it would’ve been nice to have the option." Silas leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping against the glass. "You always were stubborn. Still are, by the looks of it." "Pot calling the kettle black," she muttered, earning a low chuckle from him. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was laden with unspoken words—things that had been left unsaid for years, events that had shaped them both in ways neither of them could fully articulate. Rory traced the rim of her glass, her mind wandering back to Cardiff, to the person she’d been before she’d run to London. "Did you ever think about coming back?" she asked quietly, her eyes fixed on the bar rather than him. "To Cardiff?" "Yeah." Silas was silent for a moment, his gaze distant. "Sometimes. But life has a way of steering you in directions you don’t expect." "No kidding." She glanced at him, catching the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something dark in his eyes. "What happened, Silas?" He didn’t answer right away, his fingers still tapping against the glass. "Prague," he said finally, his voice low. "Everything changed after Prague." She waited, her heart pounding in her chest, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he drained the rest of his drink and gestured to the bartender for another. "Enough about me," he said, turning to her with forced lightness. "What about you? Plans beyond delivery gigs and late nights at the bar?" "Still figuring that out," she admitted, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Law school might be off the table, but... I don’t know. Something’s got to give." "You’ll find it," Silas said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "You always do." The bartender set a fresh drink in front of him, and Silas nodded in thanks, his eyes catching hers. "You know where to find me if you need anything." "Yeah." She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Thanks, Silas." He raised his glass in a silent toast, and for a moment, the years between them seemed to melt away, leaving only the ghost of the friendship they’d once had. But the weight of time and the unspoken regrets lingered, a reminder that some things could never truly be the same.