Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMN803ZNMJKNQ5PW5M0PVVW

The green neon sign of *The Raven’s Nest* flickered weakly against the London drizzle, its glow bleeding into the pavement like a bruise. Inside, the air smelled of aged whiskey and the faint, acrid tang of pipe tobacco, the kind that clung to the walls like memories. Aurora Carter—Rory, to her friends—leaned against the bar, nursing a double gin that had long gone tepid. She hadn’t meant to stay this late, but the rain had turned the streets into a slick, glistening nightmare, and the thought of climbing the stairs to her flat above Silas’ place felt like climbing a mountain after a long day. She was halfway through her third drink when the door chimed, and the bell above it jingled like a warning. A gust of cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain and something else—something sharp, like ozone after a storm. Rory didn’t look up immediately. She knew that scent. Knew the way it clung to a man who had once been her world. “Rory Carter,” the voice drawled, thick with the kind of amusement that used to make her stomach flip. “Still working the same shift, I see.” She turned slowly, her fingers tightening around the glass. Evan O’Malley stood in the doorway, taller than she remembered, broader, his dark hair streaked with silver at the temples. His suit was expensive, the kind that whispered *power*, the kind that had once made her feel small and precious. His eyes, though—those were the same. Dark as a winter sky, unreadable. “Evan,” she said, her voice flatter than she intended. “What are you doing here?” He pushed off the doorframe, his boots clicking against the polished wood. “Thought I’d check in on my favorite delivery girl.” His smile was slow, like he was savoring the sight of her. “Heard you took a job at the Golden Empress. Must be nice, working for a Chinese restaurant.” Rory’s jaw tightened. She hadn’t told him about that. No one had. “I work for Yu-Fei Cheung. She’s a friend.” “Ah.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Still got the same sharp tongue, I see.” “You still got the same habit of showing up unannounced.” Evan chuckled, low and warm, like he was amused by her. “Miss me?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she took a slow sip of her gin, letting the burn settle in her throat. “You look different.” “So do you.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his jaw was sharper now, more defined. “Still got that fire in you, though. I like it.” Rory exhaled through her nose. “What do you want, Evan?” He leaned against the bar beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. She could feel the heat of him, the way he used to make her skin prickle with anticipation. “Just wanted to see how you were doing. Heard you left Cardiff. Thought you’d gone back to your old life.” “And what’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing.” He waved a hand. “Just that I figured you’d be back in those fancy suits, arguing about some lawyer’s loophole or other. Not delivering takeout in Soho.” Rory’s fingers curled around the edge of the bar. “I didn’t choose this.” “No?” He turned to her, his voice dropping to something softer, almost intimate. “Then why?” She opened her mouth, closed it. The words stuck in her throat. *Because of you.* Because I couldn’t stand the way you looked at me when I laughed. Because I couldn’t bear the silence when you were angry. Because I was afraid of becoming the thing you wanted me to be. Instead, she said, “I needed a change.” Evan studied her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the scar on her left wrist—the one she’d gotten when she was twelve, climbing a tree she wasn’t supposed to. The one he’d never seen before. “You always did like a challenge.” Silas emerged from the back room then, his limp more pronounced as he moved across the floor. His hazel eyes flickered between them, assessing. “Evening, Evan.” “Silas.” Evan’s voice was smooth, almost polite. “Still running this place?” “Still running it.” Silas slid a fresh glass onto the bar, poured a measure of whiskey, and slid it toward Evan without being asked. “You here alone?” “Just passing through.” Silas nodded, but his gaze never left Rory. “You good?” She forced a smile. “Fine.” Evan took a sip of his whiskey, watching her over the rim of his glass. “You still see Eva?” Rory’s stomach twisted. “Of course.” “Good.” He set the glass down. “She’s always been your better half.” Rory didn’t correct him. She didn’t say that Eva was the only person who had ever truly *seen* her, who had loved her for the mess she was. Instead, she said, “What happened to you, Evan?” He blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?” “You were always so sure of yourself.” She gestured vaguely at his suit, his posture, the way he carried himself like he owned the room. “Now you just… look like you’re waiting for something.” Evan’s smile faded. “I’ve got a lot on my plate.” “Right.” She took another sip of her gin, the liquid burning its way down her throat. “Business.” “Something like that.” Silas cleared his throat. “You two done here?” Evan’s gaze snapped to him. “Why? You got somewhere to be?” Silas shook his head. “Just wondered if you were going to keep Rory standing here all night.” Evan’s jaw tightened. “I was just leaving.” “Good.” Silas turned to Rory. “You want me to walk you up?” She hesitated. “Yeah. Thanks.” Evan stood abruptly. “I’ll catch you later, Rory.” She didn’t look at him. “Don’t.” The word hung between them, heavy and final. Evan didn’t argue. He just nodded once, then turned toward the door. The bell jingled as he stepped outside, the rain washing away the last of the neon glow. Silas waited until the door closed behind him before speaking. “He’s not worth it.” Rory exhaled sharply. “I know.” Silas poured himself a whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. “You ever think about going back to law?” She shook her head. “No.” “You sure?” “Positive.” He studied her for a long moment. “You’re not the same person who left Cardiff.” “I know.” “Good.” He took a sip. “Because the old Rory would’ve let him walk all over her.” She almost laughed. Almost. But the memory of Evan’s hands on her, the way he’d made her feel like she was the only thing in the world—it still lingered, a ghost beneath her skin. “I’m not that person anymore.” Silas nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. “That’s the thing about growing up, Rory. You realize you don’t have to be what someone else wants you to be.” She thought of the scar on her wrist, the way it had faded but never quite disappeared. The way Evan had never once asked about it. “I know.” Silas slid the whiskey toward her. “Drink up. You’ve had enough.” She took it, the amber liquid warm in her hands. “Thanks.” He clinked his glass against hers. “To new beginnings.” “To new beginnings.” They drank in silence, the weight of the past pressing down like the London rain outside. Rory looked around the bar, at the old maps, the faded photographs, the way the light pooled in the corners like secrets. She thought of Eva, of the life she’d built here, of the way she’d finally stopped waiting for someone else to make her whole. She was whole now. Silas must have seen the change in her expression. He smiled faintly. “You’re thinking too hard.” “I’m just remembering.” “Good.” He stood, his limp more pronounced now. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” She followed him through the bar, past the patrons who barely glanced up, past the hidden door that led to the secret room where Silas conducted his business. The rain had stopped by the time they reached the stairs to her flat, the air cooler now, the city quieting down for the night. Silas paused at the bottom step. “You ever think about talking to someone? About what happened?” Rory looked at him. “You mean a therapist?” “Or just someone who isn’t Evan.” She considered it. Then she shook her head. “I’m fine.” Silas studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded. “If you change your mind.” “I will.” He clapped her shoulder once, his grip firm. “Goodnight, Rory.” “Goodnight, Silas.” She climbed the stairs, her boots echoing against the wood. The flat was dark when she let herself in, the curtains drawn against the night. She kicked off her shoes, peeled off her jacket, and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the scar on her wrist. She thought of Evan, of the way he’d looked when he’d walked out the door. Of the way he’d never once asked about her life here, about the person she’d become. She thought of Eva, of the way she’d always been there, of the way she’d loved her without conditions. She thought of the future, bright and uncertain, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel afraid. She pulled out her phone, dialed Eva’s number. The call connected on the second ring. “Rory?” Eva’s voice was warm, sleepy. “Is everything okay?” “I’m okay,” Rory said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.” Eva’s breath hitched. “Oh. Rory—” “I miss you.” “I miss you too.” A pause. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” Rory smiled, even though Eva couldn’t see it. “I just needed to hear your voice.” “You’re sure?” “Positive.” Eva exhaled, relieved. “Okay. Come over. I’ll make tea.” “Yes.” She hung up, set the phone on the nightstand, and lay back on the bed. The scar on her wrist was just a faint line now, barely visible in the dim light. She was free. And for the first time in years, that felt like enough.