Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAYK45Z6P3NJB84F9N38WH

The Raven’s Nest hummed with the kind of quiet energy that only comes from a place where secrets linger in the air like smoke. The neon sign above the door—green, jagged, and unmistakable—flashed once, then settled into a steady pulse, casting a sickly glow over the dimly lit room. The walls were lined with maps and photographs, their edges yellowed with age, and the scent of aged whiskey and damp wood clung to the air like a ghost. Aurora Carter—Rory, to those who knew her—stood at the bar, her fingers brushing the rim of a glass before she set it down with a sharp *clink*. She was wearing a dark green sweater that hugged her shoulders, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show the faint outline of her wrist, where a small crescent scar still marked the place where her childhood accident had left its mark. Her black hair was pulled back into a loose braid, the ends escaping in loose waves, and her bright blue eyes scanned the room with the kind of sharp focus that had always been hers. She didn’t recognize the man at first. He was taller than she remembered, his frame broader, his posture rigid with something like tension. His hair was streaked with gray, his beard neatly trimmed, and his hazel eyes held a quiet intensity that made her pause. Then she saw the signet ring on his right hand, silver and worn smooth by years of use, and the way his left leg carried itself slightly off-kilter—a limp she hadn’t noticed before. Silas Blackwood turned, his voice low and deliberate as he set down a glass of amber liquid. "Rory." She didn’t move. "Silas." The word hung between them, heavy with unspoken years. He stepped closer, the bar stool creaking beneath him, and she watched the way his fingers flexed around the glass, the way his beard shadowed his jaw. "You look different." She exhaled through her nose, the breath sharp. "And you look the same." He didn’t flinch. "Same in the ways that matter." She turned away, her fingers tightening around the edge of the bar. The photographs on the wall—old maps of foreign cities, snapshots of men in suits and women in evening gowns—seemed to watch her, their faces frozen in time. "I’m not sure I’m ready for this." Silas didn’t answer right away. He poured himself another drink, the liquid sloshing over the rim, and set it down with deliberate care. "You left London without a word." She didn’t look at him. "I had reasons." "Reasons that didn’t include me." The words hit her like a punch. She turned back to face him, her chest tight. "You’re not the only one who’s changed." He studied her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the scar on her wrist, the way her hair fell just so. "You’re still Rory." She swallowed. "I’m still trying to figure out who I am now." Silas leaned back, his shoulders relaxing just a little. "You were always good at that." She scoffed, though her voice was quiet. "I was good at running. At pretending I didn’t care." He reached across the bar, his fingers brushing hers for just a second before pulling back. "You cared. You always did." She pulled her hand away, the contact jarring. "I cared about the wrong things." Silas didn’t argue. He simply said, "Eva told me you were in London." Aurora’s stomach twisted. "She did." "She said you were working at the restaurant." She nodded, her throat tight. "Yu-Fei’s place." Silas took a slow sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. "You’re still delivering food." She exhaled, the breath coming out in a rush. "I’m not sure I can do this anymore." Silas set his glass down with a quiet *clink*. "What do you mean?" She turned away from him, her fingers digging into the bar’s polished surface. "I’m not good at this life anymore. Not the kind of life that lets you forget." Silas didn’t say anything for a long time. The bar was quiet, save for the occasional clink of glasses and the murmur of voices in the background. Then, slowly, he turned back to her. "You were always better at forgetting." She looked at him, her eyes burning. "I’m not sure I can forget anymore." Silas reached across the bar again, this time his hand closing around hers. His fingers were warm, his grip steady. "Then we’ll figure it out together." She pulled away, her breath coming faster. "You don’t understand." He didn’t let go. "I understand more than you think." She looked down at their hands, the way his fingers curled around hers like a promise. "I don’t know if I can trust you." Silas’s expression darkened just a little. "You never did." The words hung between them, heavy with the weight of years. Rory looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "I’m sorry." Silas exhaled, his breath warm against her cheek. "For what?" She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped back, her fingers brushing against his wrist before she pulled away. "I need to go." Silas didn’t stop her. He simply watched her as she walked toward the door, his voice low and quiet behind her. "You’re not alone in this." She didn’t look back. The door swung open, the night outside London pressing in around her, cold and indifferent. She didn’t know what she was running from anymore. Or who she was running to. But for the first time in years, she felt the weight of it all pressing down on her shoulders, and she didn’t know if she could carry it alone.