AI The neon sign of *The Raven’s Nest* flickered like a dying ember, casting long, jagged shadows across the wooden bar. Aurora Carter—Rory, to those who knew her—leaned against the counter, her bright blue eyes scanning the room with the practiced ease of someone who’d spent years navigating the quiet chaos of London’s underbelly. She was always early, as if she could outrun the weight of the past by arriving before it had a chance to catch up. Tonight, though, the air smelled different. Not just the usual tang of aged whiskey and cigarette smoke, but something sharper, something like the edge of a blade unsheathed.
Silas Blackwood—Si, to the few who still called him that—was already at the bar, his silver signet ring catching the dim light as he wiped down the glass rail. He didn’t look up as she stepped inside, his hazel eyes flicking to her only long enough to note the way her black hair fell straight over her shoulders, the way her left wrist—where a small crescent scar still marked the ghost of a childhood accident—rested against the wood. He exhaled through his nose, a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, and turned back to polishing a glass .
“You’re late,” he said.
Aurora didn’t flinch. “I’m always early.”
“Not like this.”
She crossed her arms, the scar on her wrist catching the light again. “What’s wrong?”
Silas set the glass down with a quiet *clink * and stepped around the bar, his limp making the floorboards creak under his weight . He reached for her wrist, his fingers brushing the scar before he pulled her into the dim space between the bar and the wall. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and something metallic, like the kind of tension that settled in your bones when you’d been holding your breath too long.
“You look different,” he said.
Aurora’s jaw tightened. “I look the same.”
“No.” His voice was low, rough . “You look like you’ve been carrying something for years.”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she studied the way his beard—neatly trimmed, just like his hair—shadowed his cheeks, the way his left leg swayed slightly when he moved. She remembered the way he used to stand here, his knee still stiff from Prague, his hands always busy, his voice a quiet rumble that made her feel safe. Now, he was older. His hair was streaked with gray, his eyes had lost some of their sharpness, but there was something else too—something sharper, like the edge of a blade unsheathed.
“You’re not the same,” she said.
Silas exhaled, his breath warm against her ear. “I’m not.”
The bar door swung open, and a woman in a leather jacket stepped inside, her dark eyes locking onto them. “Silas,” she said, her voice smooth, amused . “I didn’t know you had company.”
Silas didn’t look away from Aurora. “This is Rory.”
The woman tilted her head, studying her with something like curiosity . “Rory Carter. I remember you.”
Aurora’s fingers twitched at her sides. “You do?”
“From the old days.” The woman’s smile was warm, but there was a flicker of something else—distrust, maybe, or just the quiet suspicion of someone who’d seen too much. “I was in the same class as you at Cardiff. You were always the one with the sharp mind.”
Aurora’s throat tightened. “Eva.”
Silas’s grip on her wrist tightened just enough to make her jump. “Eva, right.”
Eva stepped closer, her presence filling the space between them. “You look different,” she said, her voice low . “Not just older, but… changed .”
Aurora’s jaw clenched . “I’m not.”
Eva’s gaze flicked to Silas, then back to her. “You’re not the same person who left London after Evan.”
Aurora’s breath hitched. “I was never the same person.”
Silas’s voice was a low growl. “She’s right.”
Aurora turned to him, her eyes burning. “What do you mean?”
“You were always the one who could see through things,” Silas said, his voice rough . “But now? You’re not the same.”
Aurora’s fingers curled into fists. “I’m not the one who’s changed.”
Silas’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “You were the one who left. The one who ran.”
Aurora’s chest ached. “I didn’t run.”
“You did,” Silas said, his voice barely above a whisper . “You ran from everything.”
The bar door swung open again, and a man in a suit stepped inside, his expression unreadable . “Silas,” he said, his voice cold . “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Silas didn’t look away from Aurora. “This is Rory.”
The man’s eyes flicked to her, then to Silas. “I know who she is.”
Silas’s grip on her wrist tightened. “She’s not here for you.”
The man’s smile was a thin, cruel thing. “Of course not.”
Silas’s voice was a low growl. “She’s not here for anyone.”
Aurora’s breath came fast, her pulse hammering in her ears. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t here for anyone, that she was here for herself. But the words stuck in her throat, heavy and impossible to swallow.
Eva stepped closer, her voice soft. “You should go.”
Aurora’s eyes burned. “I’m not leaving.”
Silas’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “You’re not the same person who left.”
Aurora’s fingers twitched at her sides. “I’m not.”
Silas’s voice was a low growl. “You were the one who ran.”
Aurora’s breath hitched. “I didn’t run.”
Silas’s grip on her wrist tightened, just enough to make her jump. “You did.”
The bar door swung open again, and a woman in a leather jacket stepped inside, her dark eyes locking onto them. “Silas,” she said, her voice smooth, amused . “I didn’t know you had company.”
Silas didn’t look away from Aurora. “This is Rory.”
The woman tilted her head, studying her with something like curiosity . “Rory Carter. I remember you.”
Aurora’s fingers curled into fists. “You do?”
“From the old days.” The woman’s smile was warm, but there was a flicker of something else—distrust, maybe, or just the quiet suspicion of someone who’d seen too much. “I was in the same class as you at Cardiff. You were always the one with the sharp mind.”
Aurora’s throat tightened. “Eva.”
Silas’s grip on her wrist tightened just enough to make her jump. “Eva, right.”
Eva stepped closer, her presence filling the space between them. “You look different,” she said, her voice low . “Not just older, but… changed .”
Aurora’s jaw clenched . “I’m not.”
Eva’s gaze flicked to Silas, then back to her. “You’re not the same person who left London after Evan.”
Aurora’s breath hitched. “I was never the same person.”
Silas’s voice was a low rumble. “She’s right.”
Aurora turned to him, her eyes burning. “What do you mean?”
Silas exhaled, his breath warm against her ear. “You were always the one who could see through things. But now? You’re not the same.”
Aurora’s fingers curled into fists. “I’m not the one who’s changed.”
Silas’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “You were the one who left. The one who ran.”
Aurora’s chest ached. “I didn’t run.”
Silas’s voice was barely above a whisper . “You did.”
The weight of it settled in her bones, heavy and impossible to shake. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t here for anyone, that she was here for herself. But the words stuck in her throat, heavy and impossible to swallow.
Eva stepped closer, her voice soft. “You should go.”
Aurora’s eyes burned. “I’m not leaving.”
Silas’s voice was a low growl. “You’re not the same person who left.”
Aurora’s breath came fast, her pulse hammering in her ears. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were trapped in her chest, tangled up in the weight of years gone by.
The bar door swung open again, and the man in the suit stepped inside, his expression unreadable . “Silas,” he said, his voice cold . “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Silas didn’t look away from Aurora. “This is Rory.”
The man’s eyes flicked to her, then to Silas. “I know who she is.”
Silas’s grip on her wrist tightened, just enough to make her jump. “She’s not here for you.”
The man’s smile was a thin, cruel thing. “Of course not.”
Silas’s voice was a low rumble. “She’s not here for anyone.”
Aurora’s breath came fast, her chest tight. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t here for anyone, that she was here for herself. But the words were stuck in her throat, heavy and impossible to swallow.
Silas’s voice was a low growl. “You were always the one who could see through things. But now? You’re not the same.”
Aurora’s fingers twitched at her sides, her pulse hammering in her ears. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were trapped in her chest, tangled up in the weight of years gone by.
Eva stepped closer, her voice soft. “You should go.”
Aurora’s eyes burned. “I’m not leaving.”
Silas’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “You’re not the same person who left.”
Aurora’s breath came fast, her pulse hammering in her ears. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were stuck in her throat, heavy and impossible to swallow.
Silas’s voice was a low rumble. “You were the one who left.”
Aurora’s chest tightened, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were trapped in her chest, tangled up in the weight of years gone by.
The bar door swung open, and the woman in the leather jacket stepped inside, her dark eyes locking onto them. “Silas,” she said, her voice smooth, amused . “I didn’t know you had company.”
Silas didn’t look away from Aurora. “This is Rory.”
The woman tilted her head, studying her with something like curiosity . “Rory Carter. I remember you.”
Aurora’s fingers curled into fists, her pulse hammering in her ears. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were stuck in her throat, heavy and impossible to swallow.
Silas’s voice was a low growl. “You were always the one who could see through things. But now? You’re not the same.”
Aurora’s breath hitched, her chest tight. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were trapped in her chest, tangled up in the weight of years gone by.
Eva stepped closer, her voice low. “You should go.”
Aurora’s eyes burned. “I’m not leaving.”
Silas’s grip on her wrist tightened, his voice a low, dangerous whisper . “You were the one who ran.”
Aurora’s breath came fast, her pulse roaring in her ears. She wanted to scream, to tell him to let her go, to tell him that she wasn’t the same person who’d left. But the words were stuck in her throat, tangled up in the weight of years gone by, in the way her life had unraveled like a thread, one piece at a time.
Silas’s voice was a low rumble, his grip on her wrist unyielding. “You were the one who left.”
Aurora’s fingers curled into fists, her vision swimming. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were trapped in her chest, heavy and impossible to swallow.
The bar door swung open, and the man in the suit stepped inside, his expression unreadable . “Silas,” he said, his voice cold . “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Silas didn’t look away from Aurora. “This is Rory.”
The man’s eyes flicked to her, then to Silas. “I know who she is.”
Silas’s grip on her wrist tightened, his voice a low growl. “She’s not here for you.”
Aurora’s breath came fast, her chest tight. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were stuck in her throat, tangled up in the weight of years gone by.
Silas’s voice was a low rumble, his grip on her wrist firm. “You were always the one who could see through things. But now? You’re not the same.”
Aurora’s eyes burned, her pulse hammering in her ears. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were trapped in her throat, heavy and impossible to swallow.
Silas’s voice was a low growl, his grip on her wrist unyielding. “You were the one who left.”
Aurora’s breath came fast, her vision swimming. She wanted to scream, to tell him to let her go, to tell him that she wasn’t the same person who’d left. But the words were stuck in her throat, tangled up in the weight of years gone by, in the way her life had unraveled like a thread, one piece at a time.
Silas’s voice was a low rumble, his grip on her wrist steady. “You were the one who ran.”
Aurora’s fingers dug into her palms, her chest tight. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were trapped in her throat, heavy and impossible to swallow.
Eva stepped closer, her voice low. “You should go.”
Aurora’s eyes burned. “I’m not leaving.”
Silas’s gaze was steady, his voice a low growl. “You were the one who left.”
Aurora’s breath came fast, her pulse hammering in her ears. She wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that she wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t the one who’d run. But the words were stuck in her throat, tangled in the weight of years gone by, in the quiet ache of a life she’d tried to outrun.
Silas released her wrist, and she stumbled back, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The bar door swung shut behind her, the weight of the past pressing down on her like a physical force. She stood there for a moment, her hands trembling, her vision blurring. Then she turned and walked out into the night, the neon sign of *The Raven’s Nest * flickering behind her like a dying ember, a reminder of the life she’d left behind.