Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYBB04CKTSY2J74N83RG02M

The neon glow of the Raven’s Nest pulsed like a slow heartbeat against the brick facade of Soho, casting jagged shadows across the pavement. Aurora Carter—Rory, to those who knew her—stepped inside, her boots crunching on the gravel outside. The air smelled of stale beer and something sharper, like burnt coffee and old paper. She pushed open the door, the hinges groaning, and stepped into the dim light. Silas Blackwood stood behind the bar, his back to her, the silver signet ring catching the flicker of the neon. He turned slowly, his hazel eyes sharp with something unreadable. "You’re late." She didn’t flinch. "I was early." A beat of silence. The kind that hung between them like a question. Then Silas set down a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing. "You look different." Aurora didn’t look away. "You too." The bar was quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of glasses. Silas leaned against the counter, his limp making the wood creak. "You’re still the same." She exhaled, slow and steady. "And you’re still the same." A flicker of something—discomfort, maybe—crossed his face. "You’re not the same." She turned her wrist, tracing the crescent scar beneath her sleeve. "No." Silas didn’t press. Instead, he reached into the back and pulled out a bottle of something dark and thick. "You want this?" She nodded. He poured, the liquid burning as it slid down her throat. The bar was small, the walls lined with old maps and photographs, their edges frayed. Somewhere in the distance, a piano played a slow, mournful tune. Rory didn’t look up. "You left Cardiff," Silas said, voice low. "After Evan." Aurora’s fingers tightened around her glass. "I had to." Silas didn’t argue. "You came back." She didn’t deny it. "I came back for you." A pause. The kind that carried weight. Then Silas said, "You should’ve stayed." She looked at him then, really looked. The man in front of her wasn’t the same one she’d left behind. His hair was streaked with grey, his beard neat but worn. His eyes held something older, harder. "I couldn’t." Silas didn’t smile. "You could’ve tried harder." The whiskey burned again. Rory set her glass down. "I tried." Silas studied her for a long moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "This was in my safe when I got here." She took it, the ink smudged at the edges. A letter. Her name scrawled at the top. She unfolded it slowly. The words were familiar, but the handwriting—her mother’s—made them feel foreign. *"Rory, if you’re reading this, I know you’re out there. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him. I tried. I really did. But he was too strong. I love you."* Aurora’s breath hitched. She looked up at Silas. "You found this?" He didn’t answer right away. The piano stopped. The bar fell silent. Then Silas said, "I’ve been looking for you for years." She didn’t say anything. Just stared at the letter, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. Silas reached across the bar and took her hand. His fingers were rough, calloused. "You were always the one who could see the truth." Aurora pulled her hand back. "I was." Silas didn’t let go. "You should’ve stayed." She looked at him, really looked. The man in front of her wasn’t the same one she’d left behind. His eyes held something older, harder. "I couldn’t." Silas exhaled, slow and tired. "I know." The piano started up again, a slow, mournful melody. The bar was quiet, the air thick with unspoken things. Rory didn’t look away. Silas said, "You’re still the same." She didn’t deny it. "And you’re still the same." He didn’t smile. "You should’ve stayed." She set her glass down. The whiskey was gone. The letter was still in her hand. Silas reached into his pocket again. This time, he pulled out a key. "The safe in my office." She didn’t ask what was inside. She took it. The door to the back room was hidden behind a bookshelf, the wood worn smooth with use. Rory pushed it open, the hinges squeaking. Silas followed, his limp making the floorboards creak. Inside, the safe was open. Inside, a file lay on the desk, its contents scattered across the surface. Aurora picked up a photograph. It was of her, younger, standing in front of a university building. Beside her, a man with dark hair and a smirk. She looked up at Silas. "Evan." Silas didn’t say anything. He just watched her, his expression unreadable. She set the photo down. "I should’ve known." Silas reached for her, his hand closing around her wrist. "You did." She pulled away. "I tried." Silas exhaled, slow and tired. "I know." The piano played on, a slow, mournful melody. The bar was quiet, the air thick with unspoken things. Aurora looked at the file, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. She didn’t know what she was seeing. She didn’t know what she was feeling. Silas said, "You were always the one who could see the truth." She didn’t look at him. "I was." Silas didn’t smile. "You should’ve stayed." She set the file down. The whiskey was gone. The letter was still in her hand. Silas reached into his pocket again. This time, he pulled out a key. "The safe in my office." She didn’t ask what was inside. She took it. The door to the back room was hidden behind a bookshelf, the wood worn smooth with use. Rory pushed it open, the hinges squeaking. Silas followed, his limp making the floorboards creak. Inside, the safe was open. Inside, a file lay on the desk, its contents scattered across the surface. She picked up a letter. It was from her mother, dated years ago. The ink was faded, but the words were clear. *"Rory, if you’re reading this, I know you’re out there. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him. I tried. I really did. But he was too strong. I love you."* Aurora’s fingers trembled. She looked up at Silas, who watched her with quiet intensity. She set the letter down. "I should’ve known." Silas didn’t speak. He just reached for her, his hand closing around her wrist. "You did." She pulled away, her breath coming fast. "I tried." Silas exhaled, the sound heavy. "I know." The piano stopped. The silence between them was thick, the weight of years pressing down on them both. Aurora looked at the file, the contents of which she didn’t yet understand. She didn’t know what she was seeing. She didn’t know what she was feeling. Silas said, "You were always the one who could see the truth." She didn’t look at him. "I was." He didn’t smile. "You should’ve stayed." She picked up the file, her fingers brushing against the edges of the photographs and letters. The whiskey was gone. The letter was still in her hand. Silas reached into his pocket again, pulling out another key. "The safe in my office." She didn’t ask. She took it. The door to the back room stood open, the hinges groaning. Rory stepped out, the weight of what she’d seen pressing down on her. Silas followed, his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t look at him. She just walked toward the bar, the key in her pocket. Silas didn’t follow. He just watched her go, the weight of the past pressing down on him too. The piano played on, a slow, mournful melody. The bar was quiet, the air thick with unspoken things. Aurora sat at the bar, her back to Silas. She didn’t look at him. She just stared at the whiskey in front of her. Silas set down his own glass. "You should’ve stayed." She didn’t answer. She just looked at the letter in her hand, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. Silas reached across the bar and took her hand. His fingers were rough, calloused. "You were always the one who could see the truth." Aurora pulled her hand back. "I was." Silas exhaled, slow and tired. "I know." The door to the bar opened, the hinges creaking. A woman stepped inside, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun. She looked at Silas, then at Rory. Silas didn’t look away. "This is Eva." Aurora didn’t smile. "Eva." Eva’s eyes flicked to Rory’s wrist, the crescent scar catching the light. "You look different." Rory didn’t look up. "I am." Eva studied her for a long moment. Then she said, "You should’ve stayed." Rory didn’t answer. She just looked at the whiskey in front of her. Silas reached into his pocket again, pulling out a file. "I found this in my safe." Eva took it, her fingers brushing against the edges of the photographs and letters. She looked up at Rory. "You were always the one who could see the truth." Rory didn’t look at her. She just stared at the whiskey, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. Silas exhaled, slow and tired. "You should’ve stayed." Eva set the file down. The piano stopped. The silence between them was thick, the weight of years pressing down on them all. Aurora stood, her back to the bar. She didn’t look at anyone. She just walked toward the door, the key in her pocket. Silas didn’t follow. He just watched her go, the weight of the past pressing down on him too. The door closed behind her. The bar fell silent, the air thick with unspoken things. Silas leaned against the bar, his hand resting on the file in front of him. He exhaled, slow and tired. Eva sat down at the bar, her eyes on the file. "You should’ve stayed." Silas didn’t look at her. He just watched the door, the weight of the past pressing down on him. The piano played on, a slow, mournful melody. The bar was quiet, the air thick with unspoken things. Silas reached into his pocket, pulling out another key. He set it down on the bar, the weight of it pressing down on him. Eva looked at him, her eyes unreadable. "You were always the one who could see the truth." Silas exhaled, slow and tired. "I know." The door to the bar opened again, the hinges creaking. A man stepped inside, his dark hair slicked back. He looked at Silas, then at Eva. Silas didn’t look away. "This is Brendan." Eva didn’t smile. "Brendan." Brendan studied Silas for a long moment. Then he said, "You should’ve stayed." Silas exhaled, slow and tired. "I know." The door closed behind them. The bar fell silent, the air thick with unspoken things. Silas leaned against the bar, his hand resting on the file in front of him. He exhaled, slow and tired. The piano stopped. The silence was complete.