Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9QR1RGWV0NDV2MABXQ8DD

The neon glow of the Raven’s Nest pulsed like a slow heartbeat against the Soho night, casting jagged shadows across the bar’s worn wooden floor. Aurora Carter—Rory, as she preferred—stood at the counter, her fingers brushing the rim of a glass before she set it down with a sharp *clink*. The scent of spiced tea and aged whiskey clung to the air, thick and familiar, but the room felt different tonight. Too many years had passed for that. She hadn’t come here for the usual crowd—drunk students, late-night office workers, the occasional tourist who stumbled in after a night of overindulgence. Tonight, she’d come because she’d been told Silas was here. Because she’d been told he’d changed. The door creaked open, and Silas Blackwood stepped inside, his limp more pronounced than usual. He didn’t look up from the ledger he was flipping through, but his voice carried the weight of years before it reached her. “You’re late.” She didn’t turn. “I’m not late. I’m early.” A beat of silence. The kind that settled between people who’d known each other long enough to know the unspoken rules of time. “You look different,” he said finally, finally meeting her gaze. His hazel eyes were sharper now, the kind of sharpness that came from years spent watching others. She exhaled through her nose, the breath steady. “You too.” Silas set the ledger down with a quiet *thud*. “You’ve got a scar on your wrist.” She didn’t flinch. “I’ve had it since I was ten.” “You’re thinner.” “You’re older.” He leaned back against the bar, the signet ring on his right hand catching the light like a broken mirror. “I’ve been thinking about Prague.” The mention of the city sent a cold prickle down her spine. “You still talk about it like it’s yesterday.” “It wasn’t yesterday.” His voice was low, rough. “It was a mistake. A man died because of it.” She turned then, the scar on her wrist catching the dim light. “I know.” Silas’s jaw tightened. “You should’ve been there.” “You should’ve been there.” The bar’s hum grew louder, the usual chatter of patrons fading into the background. Aurora reached for her glass, the ice cold against her palm. “You’re not the same man who walked into this bar five years ago.” Silas didn’t deny it. “I’m not.” She took a sip, the tea burning her throat. “You’re still here.” “Because I have to be.” The words hung between them, heavy as the weight of all the things they’d left unsaid. The bar’s lights flickered, casting long shadows across Silas’s face. “You’re still working at Golden Empress?” “Part-time. Delivery.” “You’re not in law anymore.” “No.” Silas studied her for a long moment, the kind of study that made her feel exposed. “You’re not the same woman who walked out on me.” She set her glass down. “I walked out on Evan.” Silas’s expression darkened. “You should’ve stayed.” “You should’ve stayed.” The door swung open again, and in walked Eva—Aurora’s childhood friend, the one who’d pulled her out of Cardiff when she was sixteen. She looked different too, her dark hair streaked with silver, her eyes sharp with something like recognition. “Aurora.” Silas didn’t move. “Eva.” Eva’s gaze flicked between them, unreadable. “You’ve both changed.” Aurora didn’t answer. She just stood there, the weight of the years pressing down on her shoulders. Silas reached across the bar, his fingers brushing hers. “We should’ve stayed in touch.” She pulled away. “We should’ve.” Eva cleared her throat. “I’ve got a table.” Silas nodded, his voice gruff. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Aurora didn’t look at him. She just watched Eva walk away, the way she used to, the way she’d always been able to. The way she couldn’t anymore. The bar’s lights dimmed further, the shadows swallowing the space around her. She took another sip of tea, the burn in her throat a reminder of how long it had been since she’d let herself feel anything at all. The door creaked open again, and in walked someone else—someone she didn’t recognize. Silas’s voice cut through the silence. “Who’s that?” Aurora didn’t answer. She just watched the stranger step inside, the way the light caught the edges of their face, the way their eyes locked onto hers for just a second before they turned away. The bar’s hum filled the space, loud and insistent, a reminder of how much had changed. Silas’s voice was low, urgent. “Aurora.” She didn’t look at him. She just watched the stranger, the way they moved, the way they didn’t belong here anymore. The way they didn’t belong anywhere. The door swung open again, and in walked someone else—someone she didn’t recognize. Silas’s voice cut through the silence. “Aurora.” She turned then, the scar on her wrist catching the light. “You’re not the same man who walked into this bar five years ago.” Silas didn’t answer. He just stood there, the weight of all the things they’d left unsaid pressing down on him. The bar’s lights flickered, casting long shadows across his face. “I’m not.” Aurora exhaled through her nose, the breath steady. “You’re still here.” Silas reached across the bar, his fingers brushing hers. “Because I have to be.” She pulled away. “Because you should’ve been.” The stranger stepped forward, their voice soft. “You look familiar.” Aurora didn’t look at them. She just watched Silas, the way he stood there, the way he didn’t know what to say. The way he didn’t know how to fix it. Silas’s voice was rough. “You should’ve stayed.” Aurora’s fingers tightened around her glass. “You should’ve stayed.” The bar’s lights dimmed further, the shadows swallowing the space around them. The stranger stepped closer, their voice a whisper. “I’ve been looking for you.” Silas’s hand shot out, gripping Aurora’s wrist. “Don’t.” She jerked away, the glass clattering to the floor. The stranger’s eyes widened, but they didn’t back down. “You don’t get to decide.” Silas’s voice was a growl. “I do.” Aurora’s breath hitched. The stranger’s voice softened. “I’m sorry.” Silas’s grip tightened. “You’re not.” The stranger’s face twisted, the pain in their eyes raw. “I am.” Silas’s voice was a blade. “You’re not.” Aurora stepped between them, her voice steady. “Enough.” Silas’s hand fell away, the weight of his anger leaving him. The stranger’s eyes locked onto hers, the pain in them unmistakable. “I’m sorry.” Aurora nodded. “You should be.” Silas’s voice was a whisper. “I’m sorry.” Aurora turned away, the weight of the years pressing down on her shoulders. The bar’s lights flickered, casting long shadows across the space around them. The stranger stepped back, their voice soft. “I’ll find you.” Silas’s voice was rough. “Don’t.” Aurora didn’t look at them. She just watched the stranger walk out, the door swinging shut behind them. The bar’s hum filled the space, loud and insistent, a reminder of how much had changed. Silas’s voice was low, urgent. “Aurora.” She didn’t answer. She just watched the door, the way it swung shut, the way it didn’t belong here anymore. The way it didn’t belong anywhere. Silas’s hand found hers, his fingers warm against her cold skin. “We should’ve stayed in touch.” Aurora pulled away. “We should’ve.” Silas’s voice was rough. “I’m sorry.” Aurora’s breath hitched. “You should be.” The bar’s lights flickered, the shadows swallowing the space around them. The weight of the years pressed down on her shoulders, heavy and unyielding. She took a step back, the scar on her wrist catching the light. “I’m not the same woman who walked into this bar five years ago.” Silas’s voice was low, urgent. “I’m not the same man who walked into this bar five years ago.” Aurora exhaled through her nose, the breath steady. “We’re both different.” Silas’s voice was rough. “We should’ve stayed.” Aurora turned away, the weight of the years pressing down on her. The bar’s hum filled the space, loud and insistent, a reminder of how much had changed. She took another sip of tea, the burn in her throat a reminder of how long it had been since she’d let herself feel anything at all. Silas’s voice was low, urgent. “Aurora.” She didn’t look at him. She just watched the door, the way it swung shut, the way it didn’t belong here anymore. The way it didn’t belong anywhere.