Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMENJ0K80RQ5DXFZBHK217Y

The Raven's Nest was already bustling by the time Rory arrived, the green neon sign flickering above the entrance like a beacon in the darkening London evening. She tucked a strand of straight black hair behind her ear and took a deep breath, steeling herself before pushing open the heavy oak door. The wall of sound hit her first - clinking glasses, Musak-variety guitar strumming from the main room merged into increasingly private conversations. Rory weaved through the scattering of patrons, trying not to make eye contact as she made her way to the bar. She recognized several regulars from her frequent trips back to the anonymity of homebase, while others kept coming back here for whatever choices bubbled up from the deep. Whatever rusted up bread crumb of wisdom they sought to mend their whatever route going through. The buzz around the bar quieted as Silas, the bar owner, appeared from somewhere behind the shelves that surrounded the wall. He had a queen's dignity on his broad shoulders, and the way he walked stemmed from a posture of restraint. The glasses that hang from the upper region of his chest on a thin oak frame cast a reflection of light into a pair of hazel eyes. "Evening, Miss Carter," Silas said, leaning against the bar with a slight limp. A neatly trim beard strangely complemented his muscles. The silver signet ring on his right hand glinted in the low light as he rubbed it absently with his thumb. Rory's stomach went to twisting stings, in part because of unwanted excitement that chased memories next to fear of being run out of her momma's 'hood at gunpoint. "I... ah... me dad was Irish but I was born and raised here in the capital like all them other of me kind," Rory closed that. "Even-still, despite being born in the kingdom of Gwynedd, kinda like how Eva here....I think the beating was c]+BETTER대d to have become a barista anyway." Rory bit her lip, regretting her words. Silas eyed her with an appraising look, his gaze lingering on the small crescent shaped scar on her left wrist from a childhood accident. In that moment, Rory could see the whole secret room of Silas' gotten memories. Those without need for linguist, an operative's trained eye misses nothing. "Yes, you're not half as Irish as your father was," Silas agreed, gesturing for Rory to sit in one of the bar's worn velveteen chairs. "I remember when he first brought you in here, must've been 'least ten years ago now." Rory settled into the chair, folding her hands in her lap. "Hard to believe it's been so long. Seemed like only yesterday I was running errands between the bar and his office for spending money. And uh.." She swallowed hard, nerves fisting like a manhole cover, "I've been trying to, you know. Make a better life for myself. Get the hell out of Cardiff." Silas nodded, his expression thoughtful. "He was proud of you, Rory. Even when the two of ye had your ups and downs. Never once did I hear him say otherwise." He paused, regarding her with an intense gaze. "But I'm guessing that's not why you're here tonight. What brings you to the Nest, out of the blue like this?" Rory's fingers tightened around the edge of the bar, her knuckles blanched white. It was now or never. "I saw someone tonight, Silas. Someone I didn't think I'd ever lay eyes on again - not in this life anyway. We... we used to be close. Best mates, even. Thought we'd be friends forever. Until..." She trailed off, swallowing hard. Silas simply waited, his gaze steady and unreadable. "We took different paths, Silas," Rory finally resumed. "She went to uni, studied art in Rome. I... well, you know how that turned out. Evan, law school, the whole mess." Her voice broke slightly. "She tried to reach out, after. But I was too stubborn, too proud. Pushed her away." "And now?" Silas prompted softly. "Now..." Rory hesitated, a single tear sliding down her cheek that she quickly brushed away. "Now I don't know. Seeing her again, it brought it all crashing back. The mistakes, the regrets. The way I treated her, let her down. She doesn't even recognize me, Silas. And I don't blame her. I wouldn't recognize me either, not after everything that's happened. I'm not... I'm not the girl she used to know." Silas reached across the bar, laying a comforting hand over Rory's. "Change is a part of life, Aurora. It doesn't make the bonds we share any less real, or the weaves we create at all less true. Dedicate yourself to doing better, to making the things thati used to brought together again fulfilled, perfectly and you will see the skies by your side more often." His gaze was knowing, almost sad. "Your Eva... she was a part of your golden, perfect in every way, kindest," he beckoned. "And maybe, just maybe, it's time you stop running from those parts of yourself. Stop hiding in shadows and start living in the light again." Rory nodded, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. She squeezed Silas' hand tightly, drawing strength from his steady presence. "You're right. Maybe... maybe it's time I stopped hiding. Started living again. Started making things right." Silas smiled gently, his thumb brushing over the back or Rory's hand. "Take it one day at a time, lass. One step forward is all it takes to change your whole journey." He stood, moving to the other side of the bar. "Now, what'll it be? A whiskey, to take the edge off, perhaps?" Rory sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "Make it a double. And you're on," she added, managing a weak smile. "I've got a long night ahead of me, and a few old ghosts to lay." As Silas poured out the whiskey, Rory's mind drifted back to earlier that evening, to the moment she had seen Eva walking down the street. A phantom memory of Eva's laughter, of the easy camaraderie they once shared. A fragment tucked away with the dried flowers and wishes from things long past. It had been a mistake, going to the gallery. A foolish, sentimental gesture that brought back feelings and regrets best left buried. And yet, seeing Eva's name etched on that plaque, her work displayed with such flair... it had stirred something in Rory. Something she thought she had lost long ago. Pride. Longing. Shame.