Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMC98AMNP2EF8HGTYJH7FS

Aurora wiped down the bar counter with methodical strokes, her eyes occasionally darting to the door whenever it swung open. Tuesday nights at The Raven's Nest were typically slow, which suited her fine. She'd picked up this extra shift as a favor to Silas, who had muttered something about "old business" before disappearing into his secret back room three hours ago. The green neon sign outside cast an ethereal glow through the windows, painting the worn wooden floors with shifting patches of emerald light. Rain tapped against the glass, a gentle percussion that complemented the low jazz playing from the ancient speakers mounted in the corners. She paused to tuck a strand of black hair behind her ear, glancing at the scattered patrons—a couple huddled in intimate conversation near the back, a solitary woman nursing a whiskey by the window, and two men arguing softly about football scores at the far end of the bar. The door swung open again, bringing with it a gust of cool night air and the intensified patter of rainfall. Aurora looked up reflexively, then froze, cloth still pressed against the polished wood. The man who entered shook raindrops from his coat, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on her. Recognition flashed across his face, followed immediately by surprise, then something more complex—hesitation, perhaps regret. "David," she said, the name escaping her lips before she could think better of it. He approached the bar slowly, as if giving her time to flee. "Rory Carter. Of all the gin joints in all the towns..." His voice was the same, but something in it had hardened since university. "In all the world, you had to walk into mine," she finished, falling back on humor to mask the sudden tightness in her chest. "Except it's not mine. I just work here." David eased onto a barstool, placing his hands flat on the counter. His fingers were longer than she remembered, or perhaps it was the absence of the cheap silver rings he used to wear. "When did this happen? Last I heard, you were following your father into law." "That was the plan." She set aside her cloth and stood straight, professional distance settling over her like armor. "What can I get you?" He raised an eyebrow at the deflection but didn't push. "Whatever IPA you have on tap." Aurora nodded and moved to the taps, grateful for the mundane task to occupy her hands. David had been Evan's roommate during her second year at Cardiff. Before everything went wrong. Before the restraining order and the midnight escape to London with nothing but what fit in Eva's compact car. She returned with his beer, setting it down with practiced precision. "Seven pounds." David slid a ten-pound note across the bar. "Keep it," he said, then took a long swallow. "You look good, Rory. London suits you." "Thanks." She tucked the money into the till, adding the extra to the tip jar. "How's the corporate law life treating you? Still with Harrington and Wade?" Surprise flickered across his face. "You've kept tabs?" "LinkedIn exists," she replied, though the truth was she'd obsessively tracked everyone connected to Evan in those first paranoid months after leaving Cardiff. David's mouth quirked. "Fair enough. I left the firm last year, actually. Started my own practice. Smaller cases, people who need real help." He rotated his glass slowly. "Not exactly what my father wanted, but..." "But it's what you wanted," she finished for him. "Something like that." He studied her with new interest. "And you? How did Aurora Carter, top of our pre-law cohort, end up tending bar in Soho?" The door to the back room opened before she could answer, and Silas emerged, his limp more pronounced than usual. He nodded to Aurora, his hazel eyes quickly taking in David's presence with the shrewd assessment of someone who never truly left intelligence work behind. "Everything alright, Rory?" he asked, his voice casual but his posture alert. "Fine, Silas. Just catching up with an old university acquaintance." She emphasized the last word slightly. Silas adjusted his signet ring, a habitual gesture she'd come to recognize as his way of thinking. "I'll be in my office if you need anything." The message was clear: I'm watching. As Silas disappeared through the door behind the bar, David let out a low whistle. "Protective boss?" "Landlord, actually. I rent the flat upstairs." She began organizing glasses, needing to keep her hands busy. "And friend." David nodded slowly, absorbing this information. "So you're not just passing through. You've built a life here." "I have," she confirmed, feeling strangely defensive. Silence stretched between them, filled with unasked questions. Aurora broke it first. "How is he?" The words came out smaller than she intended. David's expression closed off. "Evan? I wouldn't know. We haven't spoken in years." This surprised her. "But you were inseparable. The terrible two, everyone called you." "Things change." He took another sip of beer, leaving a foam mustache that he wiped away with the back of his hand. The gesture was so familiar it made her chest ache with nostalgia for simpler times. "After what happened with you... I tried to talk to him about it. He didn't take it well." Aurora's fingers found the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, tracing its outline through her sleeve. "I didn't know." "You couldn't have." David's gaze followed her hand, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Is that—" "From the window," she confirmed quietly. "When I tried to leave that night and he grabbed me. The frame had that broken metal latch, remember?" David closed his eyes briefly. "I remember. I'm sorry I wasn't there." "You couldn't have known," she echoed his words back to him. He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "But I did know, Rory. Not everything, but enough. I heard things through the walls. I saw how he changed when you weren't around." His knuckles whitened around his glass. "I convinced myself it wasn't my business. That's on me." The couple in the corner stood to leave, and Aurora busied herself collecting their payment, grateful for the momentary reprieve from David's confession. When she returned, he was staring at one of the black-and-white photographs on the wall—a foggy London street, circa 1950s. "I looked for you," he said without turning. "After you disappeared. Evan told everyone you'd just dropped out, couldn't handle the pressure." "And you believed him?" The bitterness in her voice surprised even her. Now he turned, his eyes meeting hers directly. "No. That's why I looked. But you'd vanished completely." "That was the point." She gestured around the bar. "New city. New life." "New name too?" he asked, nodding toward her name tag that read 'Laila.' Aurora smiled faintly. "Just a precaution. Old habits." David nodded, understanding in his eyes. "He's gone, you know. Left for a firm in Manchester two years ago. I hear he's engaged now." The information hit her like a physical blow—not jealousy, but the strange dissonance of knowing someone who once dominated her life had simply moved on, continued existing in a world that no longer contained her. "Good for him," she said flatly. "Is it?" David's question hung in the air. "He never faced any consequences." Aurora moved to serve another customer who had approached the bar, grateful for the interruption. When she returned, David had pulled out his phone and was staring at it with a frown. "I have to go," he said, already standing. "Early court appearance tomorrow." He hesitated, then pulled out a business card and placed it on the bar. "My new practice. If you ever need anything—legal advice, a friendly face, someone who remembers who you were before..." He trailed off. Aurora picked up the card, running her thumb over the embossed lettering. David Matthews, Solicitor. A small independent practice with an address in Islington. "Who I was before," she repeated softly. "That's the thing, David. I'm not sure I knew who I was then." He nodded slowly. "And now?" "Now I'm figuring it out." She tucked the card into her pocket. "Day by day." David buttoned his coat, preparing to face the rain again. "For what it's worth, I like this version of Aurora Carter. She seems... stronger." "Not stronger," she corrected. "Just better at recognizing her strength." He smiled then, the first genuine smile of the evening, and Aurora could see traces of the boyish law student who had once lent her his notes and bought her hangover coffees during finals week. "It was good seeing you, Rory." "You too, David." He paused at the door, rain visible beyond his silhouette. "Do you ever miss it? The path not taken?" Aurora glanced around the bar—at the maps and photographs that had become as familiar as her own reflection, at the door behind which Silas was probably pretending not to eavesdrop, at the ceiling that separated her from the small but fiercely independent life she'd built. "Sometimes I wonder," she admitted. "But I don't miss who I had to be to stay on it." David nodded once, understanding passing between them like a current. Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving only the lingering scent of rain and the half-finished beer on the counter as evidence he'd been there at all. Aurora picked up his glass, considering it for a moment before emptying it into the sink. The past, like the beer, could be acknowledged and then washed away. It didn't need to be finished.