Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8T78501R38N7EW4T5R92W

The green neon of The Raven’s Nest bled onto the slick pavement outside. Rain plastered strands of Aurora's hair to her cheeks as she wrestled a delivery bag from her bike, the scent of orange chicken and sweet chili sauce battling the city’s grime. A Tuesday night, nearing ten. Usually a slow bleed of regulars, a handful of tourists, perhaps a lost soul seeking temporary solace. She shook the water from her jacket, pushing the door open to the warm, smoky air. Silas was polishing glasses, a slow, deliberate motion. The bar smelled of stale beer and something like woodsmoke and regret. “Rough night?” Silas asked, not looking up. “You know it.” She tossed her keys onto the bar, the chime a familiar sound. “Yu-Fei's got me running all over for a double order to some hotel in Mayfair. Feels like half the city is hiding from the weather.” Silas finally met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his hazel eyes. “Weather’s a good excuse for most things.” He slid a damp cloth across the polished wood. “The usual?” “Please.” He poured her a whiskey, neat. She took a sip, the burn a welcome counterpoint to the chill. The bar wasn't crowded. Old Man Hemmings occupied his corner booth, nursing a pint and staring into the middle distance. A couple huddled near the fireplace, speaking in hushed tones. Then she saw him. Leaning against the bar, halfway between the entrance and Silas, was a man who looked… familiar, but wrong. The suit was tailored, expensive. Hair, once a riot of dark curls, was now cropped short, silver threading through the black. He’d filled out, softened around the edges. But it was the eyes that held her captive. Still the same intense, captivating green, but dulled, shadowed. “Well, well,” the man said, his voice a low rasp. He didn’t bother to turn and face her. “If it isn’t Aurora Carter. Or should I say, Malphora?” The name hung in the air, a shard of broken glass. She hadn’t heard it in years. Not since… She set her glass down with a thud. "Evan?" He finally turned, a slow, deliberate movement. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only. Though I’ve been going by Edward for a while now.” “Edward.” She tested the name, the way it felt foreign on her tongue. “Right.” “You haven't changed much,” he observed, his gaze sweeping over her, lingering for a beat too long on the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist. “Still rocking the black. Still looking like you’re about to solve a crime.” “Just delivering dinner.” She managed a tight smile. “And I’d rather not discuss my fashion choices with the man who once suggested I dye my hair blonde.” He chuckled, a dry, brittle sound. “A long time ago. Different man, Aurora.” “Is that what you are?” “What do you think?” He flagged down Silas, requesting a scotch. “I'm a solicitor now, for god’s sake. Dealing with mergers and acquisitions rather than… other things.” “Other things.” She mirrored his tone. The memory of those “other things” felt like a bruise deep beneath her skin. A network of shady dealings, quick money, and a constant state of anxiety. And him, at the center of it all, radiating a dangerous charisma. “Heard you stayed in London.” He took a sip of his scotch, watching her over the rim of the glass. “Silas ever mention me?” “Silas has a lot of customers, Evan. Or Edward. Whatever you're calling yourself these days.” “Came across your name in a case file, actually.” He paused. “Small world.” “What kind of case file?” He shrugged, dismissing her question with a wave of his hand. “Corporate espionage. Nothing exciting. Though it did remind me of… old times.” "Funny how those ‘old times’ conveniently vanish when you’re building a respectable life.” His jaw tightened. “Respectable is a strong word.” “Is it?” She leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re wearing a Savile Row suit, calling yourself Edward, and pretending to be a pillar of society. Sounds pretty respectable to me." “People change, Aurora.” “Do they?” She traced the rim of her glass. “Or do they just become better at hiding?” The silence stretched, punctuated only by the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversation. Silas, seemingly oblivious, continued to polish glasses, though Aurora was sure he’d heard every word. “I could ask about Eva.” He said it casually, like he was discussing the weather. “Is she still…?” “Don’t.” The word was sharp, a warning. Eva was the one constant in her life, the reason she’d even moved to London. Talking about her with him felt like a betrayal. “She's doing well. She doesn’t need you bringing up the past.” “Just curious.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I always did have a soft spot for Eva. She was the smart one, wasn't she? The one who saw through all my…charm.” “She saw what you were.” That was all she’d say. He swallowed the rest of his scotch. “Look, Aurora. I get it. You’re angry. You have every right to be. But a lot of water has passed under the bridge.” “Some things you can’t just wash away with time, Evan.” “Edward.” He corrected her, his voice laced with irritation. “Doesn't matter.” She stood up, reaching for her bag. "Enjoy your scotch, Edward. I have actual work to do.” “Leaving so soon?” He didn’t try to stop her. Just watched her, his expression unreadable. “I don’t have time for nostalgia trips.” She paused, her hand on the door handle. “Or for ghosts.” “We all have ghosts, Aurora.” She didn't respond. Didn’t look back. Pushed through the door and into the rain-washed night.