Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAZWMVYB8C5MCSWZWA6NRB

The green neon sign of The Raven’s Nest flickered weakly against the rain-slicked pavement, its glow bleeding into the puddles like spilled ink. Rory paused beneath it, her breath fogging the air for a second before she tucked her hands into her pockets and stepped inside. The bell above the door chimed, but no one turned to acknowledge her. The bar was half-empty, the usual hum of conversation replaced by the low murmur of a news report on the television in the corner. She knew this place. Had passed it a hundred times, the scent of aged wood and something smoky clinging to the air like a memory. But she’d never stepped inside—not since the night she left London behind. The last time she’d been here, she’d been eighteen, drunk on whiskey and the thrill of escape, her friend’s laughter ringing in her ears as they’d stumbled out into the night. Now, the only thing that felt familiar was the way her boots sank slightly into the worn carpet, the way the bar’s dim light made her own face look stranger than she remembered. “Rory.” The voice cut through the silence like a blade. She turned. Silas stood behind the counter, his hands resting on the polished wood, his signet ring catching the light. His auburn hair was streaked with grey now, his beard neatly trimmed, but it was his eyes—the hazel flecked with gold—that made her stomach twist. He looked older, sharper. The limp in his left leg was more pronounced, but his posture was still that of a man who carried himself like he owned the room. She swallowed. “Silas.” A beat. The air between them thickened. “You look like hell,” he said, finally. She laughed, sharp and brittle. “And you look like you’ve been drinking it.” He grinned, just a little. “Only the good kind.” She slid onto a stool at the end of the bar, the leather creaking under her weight. The space between them felt charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. “What are you doing here?” “Running a bar.” He wiped down the counter with a rag, his movements precise. “You?” “Delivering takeout.” She gestured to the bag in her hand. “Golden Empress.” “Still working for Yu-Fei?” “Still paying the rent.” He studied her for a long moment. “You always were stubborn.” “And you always were too busy being important to notice.” That made him pause. His fingers stilled on the rag. “I noticed.” The words hung between them, heavy with something unsaid. She looked away first, her fingers tightening around the edge of the stool. “I didn’t come back for this.” “No.” He set the rag down. “You didn’t.” The television flickered, a news anchor’s voice cutting through the silence. Rory watched the screen, but her mind was elsewhere—on the last time she’d seen him, on the way he’d looked at her like she was something fragile, something he might break if he wasn’t careful. On the way she’d looked back, like she was already shattering. “You look different,” he said quietly. She exhaled through her nose. “So do you.” “Better,” he said. She almost laughed. Almost. “I left.” “Yes.” His voice was steady, but his eyes flickered to the scar on her wrist, the one she’d tried to hide under her sleeve. “I know.” The air between them tightened. She didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to remember the way Evan’s hands had felt, the way he’d made her feel like she was nothing but a mistake. But Silas had always been good at reading people. And right now, he was reading her like an open book. “You’re not the same person who walked out of here all those years ago,” he said. She turned her wrist, the scar catching the light. “No.” “Good.” She met his gaze. “You don’t have to say that.” “I do.” His voice was firm. “You were always too sharp for your own good.” She almost smiled. “And you were always too soft.” He chuckled, low and rough. “I’ve learned.” The silence settled again, heavier this time. She could feel it pressing down on her, the weight of all the years she’d spent running, of all the things she’d left behind. Of all the things she’d never said. “What happened to you?” she asked, because she couldn’t help it. Because she needed to know. He looked away, his gaze drifting to the back of the bar, to the hidden room she knew was there. “I got older.” “That’s not what I asked.” He exhaled, slow and steady. “I did some things. Things I’m not proud of.” She waited. “Things I had to do.” His voice was quieter now, almost apologetic. “Things that made me who I am.” She studied him, really studied him. The lines around his eyes, the way his jaw was set. The man standing in front of her wasn’t the boy she’d known. He was harder, sharper. But there was still something in his eyes—the same quiet kindness, the same stubbornness. “You always were good at making excuses,” she said. He met her gaze, unflinching. “And you were always good at cutting me down.” She laughed, sharp and bitter. “I didn’t cut you down. I just saw you for what you were.” “And what was that?” “A man who thought he knew everything.” He didn’t argue. Just looked at her, his eyes searching hers. “I thought I knew you.” She looked away, her fingers tracing the edge of the bar. “I changed.” “So did I.” The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. She could feel it pressing down on her, the weight of all the years she’d spent running, of all the things she’d left behind. Of all the things she’d never said. “You should go,” she said. He didn’t move. “I know.” She looked up at him, her eyes burning. “I don’t want to talk about this.” “I know.” She stood abruptly, her stool scraping against the floor. “I have to get back.” He didn’t stop her. Just watched her as she turned, as she walked toward the door. She could feel his eyes on her, the weight of them pressing down on her like a physical force. “Rory.” She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Yes.” “You’re still the same person who walked out of here all those years ago.” She turned, her eyes meeting his. “No, I’m not.” He studied her, his eyes searching hers. “You’re stronger.” She looked away, her fingers tightening around the doorknob. “I’m just tired.” He nodded, just once. “I know.” She stepped outside, the rain immediately soaking through her jacket. She didn’t look back. Didn’t want to see the way he was watching her, the way he was remembering. The way he was letting her go.