Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPADVVPQCH616R2S7S41ZW

Aurora Carter entered The Raven's Nest, letting the creak of the old wooden door announce her arrival. The dim glow of vintage lamps cast long shadows across the stained wooden floors, and the scent of aged whiskey mingled with the faint trace of cigar smoke. The green neon sign outside flickered erratically, a reminder of the storm brewing beyond these walls. Rory slipped onto a barstool, her bright blue eyes scanning the room with the methodical precision of someone used to being cautious. Her hand absently traced the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, an enduring souvenir from a childhood run-in with a wire fence. The bartender, a burly man in a stained apron, nodded at her familiar presence and poured her usual drink—a neat bourbon. She sipped the amber liquid slowly, savoring its burn, when a figure at the far end of the bar caught her attention. Silas Blackwood, the owner marked by his grey-streaked auburn hair and weathered face, stood adjusting rows of bottles, his limp subtle yet noticeable to a keen observer. He paused, seemingly preoccupied with a memory, then glanced towards her, recognition lighting up his hazel eyes. "Rory," he greeted, his voice a gravelly whisper of the stoic strength he once wielded in MI6. He leaned on the bar with a slight shift, accommodating his injured knee. The silver signet ring on his right hand gleamed in the dim light. "Silas," Rory replied, a faint smile breaking the cool mask she often wore. In Silas's bar, she felt comfortably safe, a protector and mentor watching over her. "How's the leg?" "Like an old friend—painful, but part of me now," he chuckled dryly. They exchanged a few more easy words, finding solace in routine. Rory’s eyes drifted to the hidden door disguised as a bookshelf, a reminder of the secrets Silas still guarded. Her mind wandered back to the years before life’s complications had driven her here. London was now her refuge, far from Cardiff, far from Evan. The opening of the door broke her reverie. A rush of cold air entered, followed by a man wrapped in a long black coat. His presence clung to the room like an uncomfortable itch—familiar and distant. Rory turned, her heart tightening as recognition dawned. Eva Sharpe stepped forward, her golden-brown hair now streaked with strands of silver, framing a face hardened by time but still containing that essence of youthful mischief that had made them inseparable. She pulled the coat tighter around herself, glancing around the room before her eyes settled on Rory. "Rory," she breathed, a mix of shock and nostalgia pulling at her features. "Eva." It was a simple acknowledgment, heavy with the weight of years unspoken. Eva approached, her movements careful, as if gauging the distance of old wounds. She slid onto the barstool beside Rory, her movements betraying an unconscious tremor of unease. Silas discreetly withdrew to the end of the bar, giving them privacy. Eva’s brown gaze turned to her drink, requesting something stronger, the weight of the moment calling for liquid courage. "So, Carrie, a lawyer, right?" Eva’s tone tried to grip onto the playful banter of their youth, back when she had called Rory by her loveable childhood nickname. But the attempt fell flat, the innocence long shattered. "Not anymore," Rory replied quietly. "Delivery driver now. Keeps things simple." Eva’s eyebrows quirked, a silent question poised but unasked. Instead, she resorted to the obvious. "Left Cardiff, huh?" Rory squeezed the bridge of her nose, memories of Evan flashing through her mind—the shouting, the bruises, the escape. "Yeah. Needed a fresh start." "There must be a story there," Eva prodded, her voice softening. "You know I’m always here to listen." A cornered animal, Rory's defenses came up. "What about you? Last I heard, you were off to New York." Eva's lips twitched as she took a sip of her whiskey, the warmth bringing some life back to her pale cheeks. "I was. It was good for a while, Harvard, degree, all that. But, no matter how far you run, your roots pull you back eventually." "And they've pulled you back... why?" Rory's tone had an edge, half accusing, half curious. Eva sighed deeply; the years of separation had etched lines of regret into her face. "Mom got sick. I couldn't stay away. She's stubborn, just like always, but cancer doesn’t care." Rory's hands trembled slightly as she placed her glass on the bar with too much force, the sound drawing eyes momentarily before silence settled again. "I'm sorry." "Yeah," Eva murmured. She shifted, trying to find comfort in the hardness of the bar stool. "I'm sorry for a lot of things." The unspoken hung heavy between them, regret and lost opportunities. Silence filled the gap as they both stared into their drinks, each reflecting on paths crossed and diverged. "Remember the treehouse?" Rory said suddenly, the memory surprising her. Eva’s eyes softened, the ghost of a smile played at her lips. "Of course. The one where we swore to always be there for each other, no matter what." "And yet..." Rory's voice trailed off, the implication clear. "And yet," Eva echoed, knowing the weight of her actions, the feeling of abandoning Rory when she needed her most. "I should have been there." Rory's hand found the crescent scar on her wrist again, a single tangible reminder of lessons learned the hard way. "I’ve learned to stand on my own. Had to." Eva leaned closer, her presence becoming confidante instead of stranger. "We should have done better by you. I'm sorry for all of us, for everything." Rory's expression softened, the hurt easing just a fraction. "I know. Life happened. It’s hard to blame anyone." Silas’s presence reignited with his quiet footsteps, reminding them of his silent support. He handed Rory another drink, his touch of reassurance saying more than words could—she was not alone here. Eva glanced at Silas, recognition flitting through her eyes. "You always had good people around you." Rory nodded, her hand lingering over her drink. "Guess I got lucky with some things." Eva's gaze held Rory's, old bonds making new tries at connecting in these fleeting moments. "Maybe we can start again. I won’t disappear this time." Rory's eyes reflected a hardened resolve, softened by the tiniest spark of hope. "Maybe. We’ll see where paths lead when they're crossed." Eva nodded, finishing her drink. "One step at a time." Rory smiled, a real one this time. "One step," she echoed. London outside howled with the wind, but in The Raven's Nest, bonds once frayed found room to mend. Time had brought changes, but here, in the dimmed lights and echoes of old maps, friendship showed its ability to endure.