Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY97VFNBBBRXYJHBFXXSFTH

The Raven’s Nest smelled of aged whiskey and the faintest trace of something sweet—vanilla, maybe, or the lingering scent of a dish Aurora had once helped prepare at Golden Empress. The neon green sign above the door pulsed like a heartbeat, casting a sickly glow over the dimly lit room. Aurora stood at the bar, her fingers tracing the edge of a glass, the cool surface sharp against her palm. She hadn’t come here for the sake of it. Not really. But the bar was where Silas had always been, and the memory of him—of the way he used to laugh, the way his voice carried that quiet authority, the way he’d always have a story to tell—made her pause. She hadn’t seen him in years. Not since the night she’d left London, not since she’d packed her bags and walked out on Evan, not since she’d told herself she’d never look back. But here she was, standing in the same place, the same bar, the same city that had once been her home. The weight of it settled in her chest like a stone. Silas was behind the bar, his back to her, but she could hear him—low, measured, the kind of voice that made people lean in. He was talking to someone else, a younger man with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Aurora’s stomach twisted. She didn’t recognize him. Not really. But Silas did. She should leave. She should walk out the door, pretend she never saw him, never heard his voice. But the bar felt too small, too intimate, like it was holding its breath. She took a step forward, the soles of her boots scraping against the worn wood. “Aurora.” The word was a whisper, but it cut through the hum of the room like a blade. She turned, her breath catching. Silas stood there, his hands resting on the bar, his hazel eyes sharp with something she couldn’t quite read. His auburn hair was streaked with gray now, his beard neatly trimmed, but his face was the same—sharp, knowing. He looked older, but not in a way that made her feel old. In a way that made her feel like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life. “Silas,” she said, her voice smaller than she intended. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He didn’t answer right away. He just studied her, his gaze flicking over her—her black hair, still straight and shoulder-length, the way her eyes held that same bright blue she’d always had, the way her scar on her left wrist was still there, a reminder of something long past. She hadn’t thought about it in years. Not since the accident, not since she’d tried to forget. “You look different,” Silas said finally, his voice rough. Aurora shrugged. “So do you.” He didn’t smile. “I’ve been busy.” “Of course you have.” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” “Don’t apologize,” he cut in, his tone firm. “You didn’t come here to apologize.” She looked away, her fingers tightening around the edge of the glass. “I came because I needed to see you.” Silas studied her for a long moment, then turned back to the man at the bar. “You’re not here for the usual,” he said, his voice low. “I can tell.” Aurora’s chest tightened. “I’m not.” Silas didn’t press. He just nodded, his gaze never leaving her face. “You’re not the same person I knew.” She swallowed. “No.” “You left London. You left everything.” She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Silas stepped aside, his limp a quiet reminder of the past. “Come on. Sit down.” Aurora hesitated, then followed him to a table in the corner, where the air was cooler, the shadows deeper. She sat, her back straight, her fingers digging into the fabric of her jacket. Silas pulled out the chair across from her, his presence so close she could feel the heat of him. “You’re working,” he said, his voice low. Aurora nodded. “At Golden Empress.” Silas didn’t ask how. He didn’t need to. He knew. He always did. “You’re good at it,” he said. “Better than I ever was.” She looked at him, surprised. “What?” He shrugged. “You’ve got a way with people. A way with food. You don’t just deliver—you make things happen.” Aurora’s throat tightened. “I don’t know about that.” “You do.” Silas leaned forward, his voice dropping. “You always have.” She didn’t want to talk about it. Not here. Not now. But the words kept coming, like they always had. “Eva called me,” she said quietly. “She said you’d been looking for me.” Silas’s expression darkened. “She did.” “She said you thought I was still in London.” Silas exhaled through his nose. “She said you’d changed.” Aurora didn’t answer. She just stared at her hands, the way they trembled slightly. Silas reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. “You’re not the same person who left.” Aurora pulled away. “I’m not.” “You’re still Rory.” She looked up at him, her eyes burning. “I’m not.” Silas’s gaze was steady. “You were. And you still are.” She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him she’d changed, that she’d grown, that she’d learned, that she’d been hurt and she’d survived. But the words stuck in her throat. “You’re not the same person I knew,” Silas said again, softer this time. “But you’re still Rory.” Aurora’s breath hitched. “I don’t know what that means.” Silas didn’t answer. He just watched her, his expression unreadable. The silence between them was thick, heavy, like the air in a room that had been holding its breath for too long. Aurora looked around the bar, the familiar details grounding her. The old maps on the wall, the black-and-white photographs of people she didn’t recognize, the way the light flickered across the neon sign. It was all the same. But it wasn’t. Silas reached for his whiskey, the glass clinking against the bar. “You ever think about going back?” Aurora’s stomach twisted. “What?” “To Cardiff. To your parents. To your life.” She shook her head. “No.” Silas studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Good.” Aurora didn’t understand. She didn’t know what that meant. But she knew, deep down, that she didn’t want to go back. Not really. Not to the life she’d left behind. Not to the person she’d been. Silas stood, his chair scraping against the floor. “I’ve got to go.” Aurora didn’t move. She just watched him, her heart pounding in her chest. “You’re not the same person I knew,” Silas said again, his voice low. “But you’re still Rory.” Aurora didn’t answer. She just looked at him, her eyes burning with something she couldn’t name. Silas turned, his back to her, and walked out of the bar. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Aurora alone in the dim glow of the neon sign. She should leave. She should go home. But she stayed, her fingers digging into the table, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The weight of it settled in her chest, like a stone. She’d been waiting for this moment her whole life. And now that it was here, she didn’t know what to do with it. She stood, her legs unsteady, and walked out into the night. The city was quiet, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. She didn’t look back. She didn’t know what she was doing. But she knew, deep down, that she had to.