Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMFB36K1DE9091G47VRZFR

The neon green sign of The Raven's Nest cast an ethereal glow across the wet pavement. Aurora wiped down the bar's wooden surface for the third time that evening, her movements mechanical, her mind elsewhere. The dinner rush had died down, leaving behind the usual scattered remnants of conversations and half-empty glasses. Behind her, rows of bottles caught and reflected the dim lighting, creating a constellation of amber and crystal. She noticed him before he noticed her. The man who walked through the door moved with the hesitant grace of someone trying to recall a half-forgotten dance. His coat was expensive, his shoes polished to a shine that spoke of board rooms and corner offices, but there was something in the way he held himself that she recognized from years ago. When their eyes met, the recognition was instant, mutual, and terrifying. "Evan," she said, the name falling from her lips like a stone into still water. He stood frozen halfway to the bar, his confident facade cracking just enough to show the surprise underneath. "Laila," he said, using the nickname she'd had at university, the one she'd shed like an old skin when she'd left Cardiff. "I didn't expect—" He gestured vaguely at the bar, at her, at everything. "It's Rory now," she corrected, her fingers instinctively moving to touch the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. "Just Rory." Silas appeared from the back room, his slight limp more pronounced after a long day. He assessed the situation with the practiced eye of someone who'd spent decades reading rooms for danger. His hand went to his signet ring, turning it slowly, a habit Aurora had learned meant he was calculating risks. "Everything alright here?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of authority that made most troublemakers reconsider their choices. "Fine," Aurora said, not taking her eyes off Evan. "An old friend from university." Evan finally made his way to the bar, settling onto a stool with practiced ease. His hair was shorter now, streaked with premature grey at the temples. Success had filled out his face, smoothed away the hungry angles she remembered, but his eyes were the same. Dark. Intense. Watching. "Whiskey, neat," he said to Silas, who looked to Aurora for confirmation before moving to pour the drink. "You look good, Laila. Rory," he corrected himself, testing the new name like a key in an unfamiliar lock. "You look..." she paused, studying him. "Different." "Made partner last month," he said, a practiced smile spreading across his face. "The Cardiff office is expanding. We're handling international clients now, bigger cases." He took a sip of his whiskey. "Your father asks about you sometimes." The mention of her father sent a sharp pain through her chest. "I'm sure he does." "He misses you. They both do." Evan's voice softened, taking on that gentle tone she remembered from their better days, before everything had shattered. "Nobody understood why you left like that. No goodbye, no explanation. Just gone." Aurora's hands stilled on the bar towel. Behind her, one of the old maps on the wall caught a draft, its corner lifting slightly before settling back. "I think you understood," she said quietly. "Even if you never admitted it." Silas moved closer, pretending to organize bottles while keeping within earshot. His presence was reassuring, a solid anchor in choppy waters. "We were young," Evan said, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "I was stressed about the bar exam, about living up to expectations. You were... you were always pushing, wanting more than I could give." "Is that what you tell yourself?" Aurora's voice was steady, but her hands had begun to shake. She pressed them flat against the bar to still them. "That I was pushing too hard when I suggested therapy? When I asked you to talk to someone about your anger?" "The past is past," he said, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes – shame, perhaps, or regret. "I've changed. I got help, actually. Been seeing someone for two years now." The admission hung between them like smoke in still air. Aurora felt something shift in her chest, a knot loosening that she hadn't realized was still there. "I'm glad," she said, and was surprised to find she meant it. "Really, I am." "I've wanted to apologize," he started, but she held up a hand. "Don't," she said. "Please. What's done is done. We can't go back and fix it, and I don't want to relive it." He nodded, finishing his whiskey in one long swallow. As he set the glass down, his sleeve rode up, revealing a watch she recognized – the one she'd given him for his birthday their last year together. The sight of it made her breath catch. "You kept it," she said, nodding toward the watch. "To remind me," he said simply. "Of what I lost, and why I lost it." Silas appeared again, his hazel eyes checking on Aurora. She gave him a small nod, and he withdrew, though she noticed he stayed within sight, his grey-streaked auburn hair visible as he pretended to study the sports scores on the TV above the bar. "I should go," Evan said, standing. He pulled out his wallet, but Aurora shook her head. "It's on the house," she said. "For closure." He smiled, a genuine smile this time, not the practiced one from earlier. "Take care of yourself, Rory," he said, testing out her new name one more time. "It suits you, by the way. The name. This place. All of it." After he left, Silas came over, his limp more pronounced after standing still for so long. "Old ghosts?" he asked, picking up the empty whiskey glass. Aurora looked at the door where Evan had disappeared, then down at the crescent scar on her wrist. "Not anymore," she said. "Just memories now."