Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPEJ9VYVXAWRWVPTZ54B85

In the heart of Soho, where neon lights cast their multicolored glow on cobblestones slick with rain, the distinctive green sign of "The Raven's Nest" flickered like a beacon. The bar, nestled between a vintage record shop and a late-night kebab joint, was a relic of old London, its dim interior a sanctuary from the city's relentless pace. Aurora Carter, known to most as Rory, pushed open the heavy door, a bell jingling softly overhead. The warmth enveloped her, a stark contrast to the chill outside. She shook off her damp coat, revealing a simple black dress and boots that had seen better days. Her straight, shoulder-length black hair, still damp from the rain, framed her face, drawing attention to her bright blue eyes and the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. Rory had been living above the bar for months now, a sanctuary after fleeing her abusive ex and the life she'd left behind in Cardiff. She'd found solace in the rhythm of her days - deliveries by day, books and silence by night. But tonight, she craved company, something more than the usual nods and hellos from the regulars. Silas Blackwood, the bar's owner, was behind the counter, his auburn hair streaked with grey, neatly trimmed beard framing a face that bore the lines of a life well-lived. He moved with a slight limp, a remnant of his days as an MI6 field agent, pouring a pint of ale with the precision of a man who'd done it a thousand times before. His hazel eyes, sharp and observant, flicked up as Rory entered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Evening, Rory," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Usual?" Rory nodded, sliding onto a stool at the counter. "Please, Silas." As Silas poured her pint, the door creaked open again, letting in a gust of cold air. A tall figure stepped in, shaking off an umbrella. The man was dressed in a tailored suit, his dark hair styled neatly, a far cry from the jeans and t-shirts he'd favored in their youth. He looked around the bar, his gaze landing on Rory. For a moment, he seemed frozen, then a smile spread across his face, transforming him into the boy she'd once known. "Rory," he said, striding over. "It's been ages." Aurora looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. "Evan," she breathed, the name slipping out before she could stop it. She quickly corrected herself, "I mean, Tom. It's been a while." Tom, or rather, Evan, as she'd known him in their shared past, slid onto the stool next to her. "Too long," he agreed, his eyes never leaving hers. "You look... different." Rory raised an eyebrow. "Different from the last time you saw me, you mean? Or different from the girl you knew in school?" Evan chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Both, I suppose. You've always been beautiful, Rory. But now, there's something... more." Silas placed Rory's pint in front of her, giving Evan a pointed look. "What can I get you, Tom?" Evan ordered a whiskey, his gaze never leaving Rory. "So, what brings you to London, Rory? Last I heard, you were still in Cardiff." Rory took a sip of her beer, gathering her thoughts. "I moved here a few months ago. Needed a change of scenery." Evan nodded, but his eyes held a question. "And what do you do here? In London, I mean." Rory shrugged. "This and that. I work part-time at Golden Empress, deliver food. Nothing glamorous." Evan laughed, a sound that once would have made Rory's heart flutter. Now, it only served to remind her of the past. "You never were one for glamour, were you?" Rory smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And you, Tom? What brings you to Silas' bar?" Evan leaned back, his whiskey in hand. "Business. I'm a lawyer now, you know. Partner at a firm in the city." Rory nodded, not surprised. Evan had always been ambitious, always had his sights set on something bigger. "That's... impressive." Evan waved a hand dismissively. "It's just a job. But enough about me. Tell me about you, Rory. What have you been up to? Who have you been?" Rory looked down at her scar, tracing the crescent shape absently. "I've been... figuring things out. Learning who I am, outside of what others expect me to be." Evan reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. "And who is that, Rory? Who are you?" Rory pulled her hand back, wrapping it around her pint glass. "Someone stronger than she was. Someone who knows her worth." Evan's smile faded, replaced by a look of regret. "I'm sorry, Rory. For everything." Rory looked at him, her eyes hard. "Are you, Tom? Or are you just sorry you got caught?" Evan flinched, looking down at his whiskey. "I deserved that. I know I hurt you, Rory. I know I wasn't the man you thought I was." Rory took a deep breath, her voice steady. "You were right, Tom. I didn't know you. Not really. But I know myself now. And I know that I deserve better." Evan looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and longing. "You always did, Rory. Always." Silas, who had been quietly cleaning glasses, looked up at them. "You two look like you've got some catching up to do. Why don't you take it to the back? First round's on the house." Rory looked at Silas, then at Evan. She hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. But just for a little while." Evan smiled, standing up. "Lead the way." Rory slid off her stool, leading Evan towards the back of the bar. She pushed aside a bookshelf, revealing a hidden room. It was small, filled with worn furniture and the faint scent of old books and pipe tobacco. Evan looked around, his eyes widening in surprise. "What is this place?" Rory smiled, sitting down on a worn leather sofa. "Silas' secret. He uses it for... private conversations." Evan sat down next to her, his knee brushing against hers. "So, what do you want to talk about, Rory?" Rory looked at him, her expression serious. "I want to talk about us. About who we were, and who we are now. About the weight of time and the regret that comes with it." Evan nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Alright, Rory. Let's talk." And so, under the soft glow of an old lamp, surrounded by the echoes of secrets past, Aurora Carter and the man she once knew as Evan began to pick apart the threads of their shared history. They talked of laughter and tears, of love lost and found, of the weight of time and the unspoken regrets that haunted them both. And as the night wore on, the bar outside faded away, leaving only the two of them, bound by the past and the promise of a new beginning.