AI The neon glow of the Raven’s Nest pulsed like a slow heartbeat against the damp London night, casting jagged shadows across the bar’s worn wooden floor. Aurora Carter—Rory, as she preferred—pushed open the door, her breath curling in the cold air. The scent of aged whiskey and something faintly metallic clung to the space, the kind of smell that lingered in the bones. She stepped inside, her boots thudding against the tiles, and immediately the room felt smaller than it had when she’d last been here.
Silas Blackwood stood behind the bar, his back to her, the way he always was when he was deep in thought. The way his fingers traced the rim of a glass, the way his shoulders hunched slightly as he leaned into the weight of his limp. She knew that posture . Knew the way his eyes—hazel, always shifting like a storm cloud—would darken when he was thinking too hard.
“You’re back,” he said without turning .
She didn’t answer. She just stood there, letting the weight of the years settle over her like a second skin. The Rory she’d been back then—sharp-tongued, restless, always moving—had been a ghost in her own life. Now, she moved differently. Slower. Her fingers tapped against her wrist, where the crescent scar from her childhood accident still marked her skin, a reminder of how far she’d come and how far she’d fallen.
Silas finally turned, his expression unreadable beneath the dim light. “You look different.”
“So do you.”
A beat of silence . The kind that hung between them like a half-drunk glass.
“You’re not the same,” she said, her voice quieter than she’d meant it to be. “You’re… quieter.”
Silas exhaled through his nose, the sound rough. “I’m older.”
“You look older.”
He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached for a bottle of whiskey, poured two fingers into a glass, and handed it to her. She took it, the burn of the liquid hitting her throat before she could stop it. The amber liquid swirled, catching the light like a secret.
“You still work at the restaurant?” she asked, the question coming out before she could think it through.
“Same place.”
“Same hours?”
“Same.”
She studied him—the way his beard was now thicker, the way his hands were always still, as if he was waiting for something. “You’ve been here longer than I’ve been in London.”
Silas didn’t look away. “I’ve been here since before you left.”
“Before I left Cardiff.”
“Before you left *everything *.”
The words hit her like a punch. She set the glass down harder than she meant to. “I didn’t leave everything .”
“You left your father’s law firm. You left your mother’s classroom. You left Evan.”
The name burned. She swallowed. “I left him.”
Silas didn’t say it, but she heard it in the way his jaw tightened. “You came back.”
“No.”
“You did.”
She turned away, her fingers brushing against the scar on her wrist. The bar was too quiet. Too still. She needed something to break the silence , needed to remember how it used to be—how easy it had been to be Rory, the girl who could talk her way out of anything.
“You ever miss it?” she asked, her voice low .
Silas didn’t answer right away. He was watching her, really watching her, like he was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . “Miss what?”
“Cardiff. The university. The way things used to be.”
He took a slow sip of his whiskey, the liquid sliding down his throat. “I miss the way things used to be.”
The words hung between them, heavy and familiar . She turned back to him, her breath fogging the air. “You still think about Prague?”
Silas didn’t flinch. “Every damn day.”
“You’re not the same person you were then.”
“No.”
“You’re not the same person you were when I left.”
Silas set his glass down with a clink. “I’m not.”
She looked around the bar, at the maps pinned to the wall, at the faces of the regulars who knew him too well to ask questions. “You’re still here.”
“Still here.”
She exhaled, the sound sharp. “You’re still here, and I’m still here, and we’re both older than we thought we’d be.”
Silas reached for her hand, his fingers warm against hers. She didn’t pull away. “You’re not the same person you were when you came here.”
“No.”
“You’re not the same person you were when you left.”
She didn’t answer. She just looked at him, at the lines around his eyes, at the way his hands were always still, as if he was waiting for something. Waiting for her to say something. Waiting for her to remember.
“You ever think about Eva?” she asked, the question coming out before she could stop it.
Silas’s grip tightened. “Every damn day.”
“You miss her.”
“Every damn day.”
She pulled her hand away, her fingers aching. “You’re not the same person you were when she died.”
Silas didn’t deny it. He just looked at her, really looked at her, like he was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . “I’m not.”
She turned away, her back to him, her breath coming faster. The bar was too quiet. Too still. She needed something to break the silence , needed to remember how it used to be—how easy it had been to be Rory, the girl who could talk her way out of anything.
“You ever think about what you’d do if you could go back?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper .
Silas didn’t answer right away. He was watching her, really watching her, like he was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . “I’d go back to Prague.”
“You’d go back to the woman you loved.”
Silas didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, his eyes dark and unreadable . “I’d go back to the woman I loved.”
She turned back to him, her breath fogging the air. “You’d go back to the life you left.”
Silas didn’t answer. He just looked at her, like he was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . “I’d go back to the life I left.”
She exhaled, the sound sharp. “You’re not the same person you were then.”
Silas reached for her hand again, his fingers warm against hers. “No.”
She pulled her hand away, her fingers aching. “You’re not the same person you were when you left.”
Silas didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, like he was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . The bar was too quiet. Too still. She needed something to break the silence , needed to remember how it used to be—how easy it had been to be Rory, the girl who could talk her way out of anything.
Silas stood, his limp making a subtle shift as he moved. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She followed him, her steps heavy, her mind racing . The bar was too quiet. Too still. She needed something to break the silence , needed to remember how it used to be—how easy it had been to be Rory, the girl who could talk her way out of anything.
Outside, the night air was colder, the city lights a distant glow. Silas led her down the street, his hand on her shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. “You ever think about what you’d do if you could go back?”
She didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him, really looked at him, like she was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . “I’d go back to Cardiff.”
Silas didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, his eyes dark and unreadable . “I’d go back to Prague.”
She exhaled, the sound sharp. “I’d go back to the life I left.”
Silas didn’t answer. He just looked at her, like he was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . “I’d go back to the woman I loved.”
She turned away, her breath fogging the air. The city lights blurred behind her eyes. “I’m not the same person I was then.”
Silas didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, like he was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . The streetlights flickered , casting long shadows across their faces. She needed something to break the silence , needed to remember how it used to be—how easy it had been to be Rory, the girl who could talk her way out of anything.
Silas reached for her hand again, his fingers warm against hers. “You’re not the same person you were when you left.”
She pulled her hand away, her fingers aching. “I’m not.”
Silas didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, like he was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . The city lights faded, the night air thick with the weight of unspoken words .
Silas turned to her, his expression unreadable . “Come on. Let’s walk.”
She followed him, her steps slow, her mind still racing . The city lights were a distant glow, the night air cold. They walked in silence , the weight of the years pressing down on them both.
Silas stopped suddenly , his hand on her arm. “You ever think about what you’d do if you could go back?”
She didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him, really looked at him, like she was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . “I’d go back to Cardiff.”
Silas didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, his eyes dark and unreadable . “I’d go back to Prague.”
She exhaled, the sound sharp. “I’d go back to the life I left.”
Silas didn’t answer. He just looked at her, like he was trying to see through the years, through the weight of her silence . The city lights blurred behind her eyes, the night air thick with the weight of unspoken words .
Silas turned to her, his expression unreadable . “You’re not the same person you were then.”
She didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, her breath coming faster. The weight of the years pressed down on her, heavy and unyielding.
Silas reached for her hand again, his fingers warm against hers. “You’re not the same person you were when you left.”
She pulled her hand away, her fingers aching. The city lights faded, the night air cold and still.
Silas stepped back, his expression unreadable . “Come on. Let’s go.”
She followed him, her steps slow, her mind still racing . The weight of the years pressed down on them both, a silent burden they carried together.