Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMNWVHXGGBB31G5V05MP48

The Raven’s Nest hummed with the low murmur of late-night patrons, the kind of quiet that settled like dust over the bar’s worn mahogany surfaces. The green neon sign outside cast a sickly glow through the rain-streaked windows, painting the room in shifting shades of jade. Rory leaned against the bar, her fingers tracing the rim of a half-empty gin and tonic, the ice long melted into dilution. The glass was sweating, just like she was, though the heat had nothing to do with the weather. She hadn’t meant to stay this long. Just a quick drink after her shift at the Golden Empress, a moment to unwind before climbing the stairs to her flat above. But the Nest had a way of holding onto people, like a spider’s silk—sticky, invisible, impossible to shake off once you were caught. The door creaked open, letting in a gust of damp air and the distant wail of a police siren. Rory didn’t look up. She was too busy watching the way the condensation on her glass pooled at the base, threatening to spill over if she so much as breathed wrong. Then the stool beside her scraped against the floor. “You’re still drinking that swill, I see.” The voice was deeper than she remembered, rougher, like gravel underfoot. But the cadence was unmistakable. Rory’s fingers stilled. She turned her head slowly, as if moving too fast might shatter the illusion. Eva stood there, her dark curls shorter now, cropped close to her scalp in a way that made her sharp cheekbones look even sharper. She wore a leather jacket that had seen better days, the sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms mapped with new ink—geometric patterns Rory didn’t recognize. But it was her eyes that made Rory’s breath catch. They were the same—bright, restless, always calculating—but there was something else in them now. A hardness. A distance. Rory swallowed. “Eva.” Eva smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Miss me?” Rory didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed the gin and tonic toward her. “Still hate gin?” “Still love you for remembering.” Eva took the glass, her fingers brushing Rory’s for the briefest second. A spark. A ghost of the way they used to touch—careless, familiar. Eva knocked back the rest of the drink in one swallow, then set the glass down with a clink. “God, that’s awful.” Rory laughed, but it sounded thin, even to her own ears. “You used to drink it like water.” “Used to do a lot of things.” Eva’s gaze flicked over Rory, assessing. “You look…” “Old?” Rory supplied, because she knew that’s where Eva was going. She could feel the weight of the years between them, pressing down like a hand on her chest. Eva’s mouth twisted. “No. Just… different.” Different. Rory turned the word over in her mind. She supposed she was. The last time Eva had seen her, she’d been a mess—raw, bleeding, the kind of wreck that only comes from loving someone who enjoys breaking you. She’d shown up on Eva’s doorstep in the middle of the night, her wrist throbbing from where Evan had twisted it, her face streaked with tears and snot. Eva had taken one look at her and said, *Right. We’re leaving.* And they had. Rory had fled to London, started over. Or tried to, at least. “You look different too,” Rory said carefully. Eva’s fingers tapped against the bar, a restless rhythm. “Yeah, well. Life’s a bitch.” Silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable. Rory could hear Silas moving behind the bar, polishing glasses with slow, deliberate strokes. He was watching them, she realized. Not overtly, but she knew that look—the way his hazel eyes lingered just a second too long, the way his fingers tightened around the glass he was holding. He was listening. Rory cleared her throat. “How’ve you been?” Eva let out a sharp laugh. “That’s a loaded question.” “It’s just a question.” “No, it’s not.” Eva leaned in, her voice dropping. “You don’t get to ask me that like we’re old friends catching up. Not after—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “Not after everything.” Rory’s stomach twisted. “I know.” “Do you?” Eva’s eyes burned into hers. “Because I called you. For *months*, Rory. Left messages. Sent emails. And you just… disappeared.” “I had to.” “Bullshit.” Eva’s hand slammed down on the bar, just hard enough to make Rory flinch. “You didn’t *have* to do anything. You *chose* to. You chose to cut me out like I was nothing.” Rory’s throat tightened. “That’s not fair.” “Fair?” Eva’s laugh was bitter. “You want to talk about fair? How about the fact that I was the one who got you out of Cardiff? I was the one who found you this place, this *life*. And then you just—” She made a cutting motion with her hand. “—vanished.” Rory could feel the weight of Silas’ gaze on her, heavy and knowing. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. “I was trying to survive, Eva.” “So was I!” Eva’s voice cracked. She took a breath, steadying herself. “I needed you. And you weren’t there.” The words hung between them, sharp and unavoidable. Rory could feel the old guilt rising in her chest, thick and suffocating. She had known, on some level, that Eva would be hurt. But she’d told herself it was better this way—cleaner. Safer. “I’m sorry,” Rory said quietly. Eva’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. Me too.” The silence that followed was worse than the arguing. Rory could hear the ticking of the old clock behind the bar, the creak of the floorboards as someone shifted their weight. She wanted to reach for Eva, to bridge the gap between them. But she didn’t know how. Eva broke first. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, tapping one out. “You still don’t smoke, right?” Rory shook her head. “Good.” Eva lit the cigarette, the flare of the lighter casting shadows under her eyes. “You always were the smart one.” Rory watched the smoke curl from Eva’s lips, dissipating into the dim air. “Where’ve you been?” Eva exhaled, a long stream of grey. “Around.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only one you’re getting.” Eva’s gaze flicked to the back of the bar, to the bookshelf that hid the secret room. “Silas still running his little spy games?” Rory hesitated. “You know about that?” Eva smirked. “Please. I know *everything* about Silas Blackwood.” Rory studied her. There was something in Eva’s tone, something she couldn’t quite place. “How do you know Silas?” Eva took another drag of her cigarette, her eyes never leaving Rory’s. “Let’s just say we go way back.” Rory’s pulse quickened. “Eva—” “Don’t.” Eva stubbed out the cigarette with more force than necessary. “I didn’t come here for a reunion, Rory. I came here because I needed a drink. And because I wanted to see if you were still the same coward I remembered.” The words stung, but Rory didn’t flinch. She deserved them. Eva stood, pushing her stool back with a screech. “I should go.” Rory wanted to stop her. Wanted to say something—anything—that would make this right. But the words stuck in her throat. Eva hesitated, just for a second, her hand hovering near Rory’s shoulder. Then she dropped it, shaking her head. “Take care of yourself, Rory.” And just like that, she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her with a finality that echoed in Rory’s chest. Rory sat there for a long time, staring at the empty glass in front of her. The ice had melted completely now, leaving nothing but watered-down gin and the faintest hint of lime. Silas set a fresh drink in front of her. “You want to talk about it?” Rory shook her head. “Not really.” Silas nodded, his signet ring glinting in the dim light. “Fair enough.” He moved away, leaving Rory alone with the weight of everything unsaid. Outside, the rain had started again, a steady drumming against the pavement. Rory closed her eyes and listened to it, letting the sound fill the silence where Eva’s voice had been.