Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMX7Q7TBS3JW98NNYKBZS2

Aurora nursed her drink, watching ice cubes collide like miniature icebergs in the amber liquid. The Raven's Nest hummed with Tuesday evening regulars—a smattering of office workers loosening ties, neighborhood fixtures claiming their usual spots, and the occasional tourist who'd stumbled upon this unassuming Soho establishment. The green neon sign outside cast an otherworldly glow through the front windows, painting strange shadows across the old maps adorning the walls. Aurora traced the crescent scar on her left wrist, a nervous habit she'd developed over the years. "Refill, Rory?" Silas appeared before her, wiping his hands on a bar towel. His hazel eyes were sharp despite the late hour. "I'm good," she said. "Early delivery shift tomorrow." Silas nodded, his signet ring catching the light as he reached to collect an empty glass from a nearby patron. His movements were practiced and efficient despite the slight hitch in his gait—the permanent reminder of Prague, though she'd only pieced together fragments of that story over the years. The door swung open, bringing a rush of cold London air. Aurora didn't look up immediately, but something in the atmosphere shifted. Silas straightened, his face registering surprise before settling into professional cordiality. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," he said, voice carrying over the ambient noise. Aurora turned then, and the world tilted sideways. Marcus Reid stood in the doorway, removing his scarf with deliberate movements. The years had transformed him—gone was the lanky philosophy student with perpetual bedhead and threadbare jumpers. This Marcus wore a tailored charcoal suit that screamed Savile Row, his once wild curls tamed into a sophisticated cut that accentuated the new angles of his face. Their eyes met, and for a moment, Aurora felt twenty again, cutting her Torts lecture to meet him at that dingy café near campus. Marcus froze, recognition flickering across his features before a careful mask slid into place. "Silas," he nodded to the barman, then, more tentatively, "Rory." The nickname sounded foreign in his new voice—deeper, more controlled, with the faintest hint of an accent she couldn't place. "Marcus," she replied, surprised by the steadiness in her tone. "It's been a while." Six years, to be exact. Six years since she'd thrown her meager possessions into Eva's car and fled Cardiff without a backward glance, leaving behind her degree, her family's expectations, and Marcus—who'd been more collateral damage than intended target. He approached the bar, taking the stool beside her with a grace he hadn't possessed before. Up close, she noticed the fine lines around his eyes, the subtle gray at his temples that shouldn't belong to someone their age. "Whisky, neat," he told Silas, who nodded and retreated to give them space under the pretense of filling the order. Silence stretched between them, charged with unasked questions. "You look well," Marcus offered finally, studying her face with unsettling intensity. Aurora laughed, the sound too sharp against the bar's mellow background noise. "You don't have to do that." "Do what?" "Small talk. Not after everything." His mouth tightened. "What would you prefer, then? Should I ask why you disappeared? Why you changed your number? Why Eva told me you'd moved to Australia when I saw her at a mutual friend's wedding three years ago?" Silas slid the whisky across the bar. Marcus nodded his thanks without breaking eye contact with Aurora. "Australia was a nice touch," she admitted. "I'll have to thank Eva for the creativity." "Is it funny to you?" Something flashed in his eyes—a glimpse of the passionate, unguarded Marcus she'd known. "Do you have any idea what it was like? One day we're talking about moving in together, and the next, you're gone. No explanation. Nothing." Aurora's fingers tightened around her glass. "It wasn't about you." "That much became abundantly clear." He took a long swallow of whisky. The bar seemed to constrict around them, the background conversations fading to white noise. Aurora noticed details with hyper-clarity: the way his left thumb rubbed against his index finger—a nervous tic she remembered from exam periods; the expensive watch on his wrist; the absence of a wedding ring. "What are you doing in London?" she asked, steering toward safer ground. "I live here now. Took a position with Harrington & Blake three years ago." "The corporate law firm?" She couldn't mask her surprise. "But you hated corporate law. You said it was—" "'Soul-crushing and morally bankrupt,' yes." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "People change, Rory." The unspoken accusation hung between them. "Apparently they do," she murmured, taking in his transformed appearance again. "Partner track?" "Made partner last year." No pride in the statement, just fact. "Congratulations." He shrugged, rotating his glass slowly. "It's just a title." "And the suit? The watch? The..." she gestured vaguely at all of him, "...everything?" "Trappings of the trade." He leaned back slightly. "What about you? Did you finish at Cardiff?" "No." She met his gaze directly. "I left for good reasons, Marcus." "I'm sure they seemed good at the time." "Don't." Her voice hardened. "You don't know what happened after we—" "Because you didn't tell me," he interrupted, frustration breaking through his polished veneer. "Whatever it was, whatever Evan did, whatever you were running from—you didn't trust me enough to share it." Aurora flinched at Evan's name. Down the bar, Silas glanced their way, his protective instinct evident even as he pretended to polish glasses. "It wasn't about trust," she said quietly. "Then what was it about?" The question carried the weight of six years' wondering. Aurora stared at the maps on the wall—detailed renderings of places she'd never been. "Survival," she answered finally. "It was about survival." Marcus fell silent, absorbing this. When he spoke again, his voice had softened. "Are you safe now?" The simple question, laden with genuine concern rather than judgment, cracked something in her chest. "Yes," she said. "I am." He nodded, accepting this without pushing further. They sat in silence, less strained than before. "So what do you do now?" he asked eventually. "Delivery person, mostly. For a Chinese restaurant a few blocks over." She watched him struggle not to react, to keep his expression neutral. The old Marcus would have blurted out his thoughts immediately—his transparency had been one of the things she'd loved about him. "And you live...?" "Upstairs, actually." She tilted her head toward the ceiling. "Small flat above the bar." His eyes widened slightly. "You live above Silas' place?" "Rent's reasonable, and the commute's fantastic." She attempted humor, though it fell flat. Marcus seemed to be recalibrating, reconciling the Aurora he'd known—ambitious law student with meticulous five-year plans—with the woman before him now. "Are you happy?" he asked suddenly. The question caught her off-guard. She considered deflecting but found herself answering honestly. "I'm at peace. That's worth more than I can explain." Something shifted in his expression—understanding, perhaps, or envy. "I haven't been at peace since the day you left." Aurora's breath caught. "Marcus—" "It's not your fault," he added quickly. "Well, not entirely. I made my choices too. Chased success to fill the void. Classic, right?" He laughed, and for a moment, she glimpsed the boy she'd loved—brilliant, idealistic, wearing his heart on his sleeve. "What about you?" she asked. "Are you happy with your corner office and partner title?" His smile turned rueful. "I'm successful. It's not the same thing." "No," she agreed softly. "It's not." Marcus drained his whisky, set the glass down carefully. "I should go. Early court appearance tomorrow." He stood, reaching for his wallet. Aurora watched him, cataloging the differences—the way he carried himself, the confidence that had replaced his youthful awkwardness. Yet underneath it all, she recognized the essential Marcus-ness of him, unchanged despite everything. "It was good seeing you, Rory," he said, placing money on the bar. "You too." She hesitated, then added, "You don't have to be a stranger, you know. I'm here most evenings." Something like hope flickered across his face before he controlled it. "Maybe I'll stop by again." "I'd like that," she said, surprising herself with her sincerity. He nodded, started to turn, then paused. "For what it's worth, I never believed you went to Australia." A smile tugged at her lips. "No?" "No. You always said you couldn't stand the heat." He returned her smile, a genuine one this time. "Goodnight, Aurora." "Goodnight, Marcus." She watched him walk away, his movements measured and deliberate. At the door, he hesitated, glancing back once before stepping out into the London night. The green neon light caught him for a moment, transforming him into something otherworldly—neither the boy she'd known nor the stranger he'd become, but something in between. Then he was gone. Silas appeared beside her, collecting Marcus's empty glass. "Old friend?" "Something like that," Aurora murmured, still staring at the door. Silas studied her face. "Want to talk about it?" "Not tonight." She slid off the barstool. "Think I'll head upstairs." He nodded, understanding in his hazel eyes. "Sleep well, Rory." As she climbed the stairs to her small flat, Aurora felt the weight of the past and the fragile possibility of the future. She didn't know if Marcus would return, if they could bridge the years and secrets between them. But for the first time in a long time, she found herself hoping.