Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMNCT5SVTT9Y1WYR4ZBNEH6

The Raven’s Nest smelled of aged whiskey and lemon polish, the kind of scent that clung to the walls like a second skin. Rory had been coming here for months, ever since she’d fled Cardiff, but tonight the place felt different—smaller, somehow, as if the years had pressed in on the dark wood and low ceilings. She sat at the bar, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip, the ice long melted in her gin and tonic. The crescent scar on her wrist caught the dim light as she moved, a pale reminder of something she’d rather forget. The door creaked open, letting in a sliver of London’s damp evening air. Rory didn’t look up. She was used to the regulars filtering in, the murmur of voices, the clink of glasses. But then the bar went quiet for a beat too long, and she felt the weight of someone’s gaze. “Aurora Carter,” a voice said, low and rough with disuse. “I’d know those eyes anywhere.” Her breath hitched. She knew that voice. Knew it the way she knew the shape of her own name. Slowly, she lifted her head. Eva stood in the doorway, her once-vibrant red hair now cropped short and dyed an unnatural silver, like moonlight on steel. Her face was sharper, her collarbones more pronounced beneath the thin straps of her dress. But it was her eyes that struck Rory the hardest—hollow, shadowed, the kind of tired that didn’t come from a single sleepless night. “Eva,” Rory said, and the name tasted like rust in her mouth. Eva smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Surprise.” Rory stood, her stool scraping against the floor. They hadn’t seen each other in three years—not since Rory had left Cardiff without a word, not since Eva had chosen Evan’s side over hers. The silence between them was a living thing, thick with everything they weren’t saying. “What are you doing here?” Rory asked, because she had to say something. Eva stepped further into the bar, her boots clicking against the hardwood. “Same as you, I imagine. Hiding.” Rory flinched. The word was too close to the truth. Before she could respond, Silas emerged from the back room, his limp barely noticeable as he moved behind the bar. His hazel eyes flicked between them, sharp with recognition. “Eva,” he said, nodding. “It’s been a while.” Eva’s smile turned brittle. “Silas. Still playing bartender to the lost and lonely?” Silas didn’t rise to the bait. He just wiped a glass with a rag, his signet ring glinting under the dim lights. “What’ll you have?” “Whiskey. Neat.” Rory watched as Eva slid onto the stool beside her, close enough that Rory could smell the cigarette smoke clinging to her clothes. She hadn’t smoked in years. Neither of them had, back when they were still friends. Silas poured the drink and set it in front of Eva without a word. Eva wrapped her fingers around the glass, her knuckles white. “You look good, Rory,” she said, finally meeting Rory’s gaze. “London suits you.” Rory wanted to laugh. London hadn’t suited her. It had been a refuge, nothing more. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she took a sip of her drink, the gin burning her throat. “You too,” she lied. Eva’s laugh was sharp, humorless. “Liar.” The word hung between them, heavy with history. Rory had been a liar once, back in Cardiff. She’d lied to Eva about the bruises, about the way Evan’s voice would drop into that quiet, dangerous tone. She’d lied to herself, too, pretending it wasn’t as bad as it was, that she could fix it if she just tried harder. Eva downed her whiskey in one swallow. “I heard you left him,” she said, setting the glass down with a clink. “Took me a while to put it together. You just… vanished.” Rory’s fingers tightened around her glass. “You didn’t exactly come looking.” Eva’s jaw clenched. “I did, actually. For a while. But you know how it was. He had everyone convinced you’d just… run off. That you were unstable.” Rory’s chest ached. She remembered the way Evan had spun his lies, the way her own parents had looked at her with doubt in their eyes. She remembered the night she’d finally packed a bag, the way Eva had stood in the doorway of her flat, her face unreadable. “You believed him,” Rory said quietly. Eva’s hands trembled. “I didn’t know what to believe.” Silas was watching them now, his expression unreadable. Rory could feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken question in it. *Do you want me to intervene?* She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Eva exhaled, long and slow. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it. But he was… convincing.” Rory swallowed. She didn’t want to talk about Evan. Not here, not now. Not ever. “What happened to you?” she asked instead. “You look—” “Like hell?” Eva finished, her lips twisting. “Yeah. Well. Life happened.” Rory waited. Eva had always been the one who filled silences, who talked just to hear the sound of her own voice. But now she was quiet, her fingers tracing the grain of the bar top like she was memorizing it. “I left him too,” Eva said finally. “Evan. About a year after you did.” Rory’s breath caught. “What?” Eva’s laugh was bitter. “Yeah. Funny, right? Took me that long to realize what a bastard he was.” She signaled Silas for another drink. “I went to Manchester. Tried to start over. Didn’t take.” Rory wanted to reach for her, to touch her arm, to say something—anything—that would bridge the years between them. But she didn’t. She just sat there, her heart pounding. Eva took a long sip of her fresh whiskey. “I heard you were working for Silas now.” Rory blinked. “How did you—?” “Word gets around,” Eva said, shrugging. “I’ve got my own… connections.” Silas set a bowl of peanuts between them, his signet ring catching the light. “Eva’s been keeping tabs,” he said, his voice neutral. Rory looked at him, then back at Eva. “Why?” Eva’s gaze was steady, unflinching. “Because I owed you. And because I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Rory’s throat tightened. “I’m fine.” “No,” Eva said softly. “You’re not. Neither of us is.” The truth of it settled over Rory like a weight. She thought of the nights she’d spent lying awake in her flat above the bar, the way she still flinched when someone raised their voice. She thought of Eva’s hollow eyes, the way her hands shook when she thought no one was looking. Silas cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, moving down the bar to tend to another customer. Eva watched him go, then turned back to Rory. “He’s different,” she said. “Softer.” Rory followed her gaze. Silas was laughing at something a patron said, his limp barely noticeable as he moved. “He’s been good to me,” she said. Eva nodded, as if that confirmed something. “I’m glad.” They sat in silence for a long moment, the hum of the bar filling the space between them. Rory wanted to ask Eva why she’d really come. She wanted to ask if she was staying, if she was okay, if she ever thought about the way things used to be. But the words stuck in her throat. Eva finished her drink and stood, her stool scraping against the floor. “I should go.” Rory’s chest tightened. “Already?” Eva smiled, but it was sad. “Some ghosts don’t like to be disturbed.” Rory wanted to argue, to tell her to stay, to say that they could start over, that they could be friends again. But the words died on her lips. Eva reached into her bag and pulled out a crumpled business card, sliding it across the bar. “In case you ever want to talk. Really talk.” Rory picked it up. It was plain, just a phone number scrawled in Eva’s messy handwriting. Eva turned to leave, then paused. “I’m sorry, Rory,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.” Then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving Rory alone with the weight of the past and the ghost of a friendship that had once meant everything.