AI The rain in Soho didn't wash things clean; it just made the grime slicker. It drummed a relentless, uneven rhythm against the frosted glass of The Raven's Nest, blurring the erratic pulses of the green neon sign hanging above the entrance. Inside, the air was stale, smelling of damp wool, old beer, and the distinct, dusty scent of the maps plastering the walls—geographies of places that no longer existed, borders shifted by wars Silas Blackwood had likely watch ed from shadows.
Aurora Carter sat at the far end of the bar, her fingers tracing the rim of a water glass. She wasn't drinking . Her shift at the Golden Empress started in an hour, and Yu-Fei didn't look kindly on delivery drivers who smelled of gin. She was just existing, suspended in the quiet lull before London’s evening rush truly began.
Behind the bar, Silas moved with his characteristic economy of motion. He favored his left leg, the slight limp a rhythmic hitch as he navigated the narrow space between the rail and the shelves. The silver signet ring on his right hand clicked softly against a bottle of bourbon as he shelved it. He didn't speak to her; he rarely felt the need to fill the silence. That was why she lived upstairs. Silence was a currency Rory had learned to value after twenty-five years of noise—her father’s booming legal arguments, her mother’s anxious fluttering, and the shouting matches that had marked the end of her life in Cardiff.
The bell above the door chimed, a sharp, cheerful sound that seemed at odds with the gloom.
Rory didn't turn immediately. She watch ed the reflection in the mirror behind the bar, observing the newcomer through the distortions of age-spotted glass. A woman shook out a wet umbrella, the movement sharp and aggressive. She wore a camel trench coat, tailored to within an inch of its life, and heels that clicked like gunfire on the hardwood floor.
Then the woman turned, and the green neon light washed over her face.
Rory’s breath hitched, a small, violent arrest of her lungs. Her hand spasmed, knocking her glass. Water sloshed over her knuckles, cold and shocking, running down to the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist.
It was Eva.
Not the Eva of sticky pub floors in Cardiff, nor the Eva who had whispered fierce, drunken promises of escape in the girls' bathroom of the student union. This was a streamlined, high-definition version. Her hair, once a frizzy brown halo, was now a sleek, chemically straightened curtain. Her jaw seemed tighter, her eyes harder.
Rory considered sliding off the stool and bolting for the bookshelf that hid the back room. She knew the mechanism; she could disappear before Eva cleared the threshold of the seating area. But instincts, the cool-headed pragmatism that had gotten her out of the abusive mess with Evan, kept her rooted. Motion attracted the eye. Stillness was camouflage.
It didn't work. Eva’s gaze swept the room, dissecting the few patrons huddled in the booths, before locking onto the solitary figure at the bar. The recognition was immediate. There was no squinting, no hesitation. Just a widening of the eyes, followed by a mask slipping into place—a practiced, professional pleasantness that Rory didn't recognize at all.
"Rory?"
The name hung in the air , weight ed with three years of unanswered text messages.
Rory turned on the stool, wiping her wet hand on her jeans. "Eva. Hell of a night for a walk."
Eva closed the distance, her heels loud in the quiet bar. Up close, she smelled of expensive rain and sandalwood. She stopped two feet away, honoring a boundary that hadn't existed when they were sharing a cramped flat and cigarettes.
"I didn't think I’d find you here," Eva said. Her accent had shifted, the Welsh lilt flattened into something distinctly Estuary, polished for boardrooms. "I mean, I heard you were in London. My mum bumped into Mrs. Ellis at Tesco. But I didn't think you frequented... places like this."
She glanced at the peeling maps, then at Silas, who was polishing a glass with deliberate slowness, his hazel eyes missing nothing.
"I live upstairs," Rory said.
"Oh." Eva blinked, processing this. "Right. The glamorous London life."
"Ideally located," Rory countered, her voice steady. "Low commute."
"And you're..." Eva gestured vaguely at Rory’s outfit—a waterproof windbreaker and dark cargo trousers, practical gear for a night on a scooter. "You're working?"
"Delivery. Golden Empress."
Eva’s expression cracked, just for a second. Pity. It was the one thing Rory had dreaded more than anger. Anger she could parry; pity was a fog she couldn't punch through. "Oh, Rory. With your grades? You were top of the cohort. Dad still talks about your tort law essay."
"Dad can frame it if he likes," Rory said, picking up her water glass again. "I prefer the bike. Clears the head."
"It’s a waste."
"It’s a living."
Eva sighed, unbuttoning her coat and sliding onto the stool next to Rory. She signaled Silas. "White wine. Whatever you have that isn't swill."
Silas didn't blink. He simply turned to the fridge.
"I’m an associate now," Eva said, the words rushing out as if she needed to balance the ledger of their status immediately based on Rory's delivery jacket. "Corporate litigation. It’s brutal. eighty-hour weeks, partners who scream, the whole cliché. But the money... well." She touched a heavy gold chain at her throat. "It buys comforts."
"You always wanted that," Rory said, not unkindly. "The suit. The office. The influence."
"We both did," Eva corrected sharply . "We were going to run the firm. Remember? Carter and Lewis. We had the stationery picked out before we even passed A-Levels."
"I remember."
"Then you left." Eva accepted the glass from Silas, not bothering to thank him. She took a long swallow. "You just vanished, Rory. One night you’re crying on my sofa about Evan, the next you’re gone. I had to handle your parents. I had to handle *him*."
Rory flinched. The name struck a nerve, vibrating down to the scar on her wrist—not from Evan, but from a childhood fall, yet somehow, all her pain seemed to map back to that same jagged white line. "I couldn't stay, Eva. You know that. If I had stayed, I would have become... small. Or dead."
"I would have helped you."
"You were telling me to stick it out," Rory said softly . The memory was clear, sudden and sharp. The kitchen table in Cardiff, the smell of burnt toast. Eva holding her hand, saying *he loves you, he’s just stressed, don’t throw away the degree over a bad patch.* "You told me it would look bad if I dropped out. You worried about the optics."
Eva stiffened, twisting the stem of her wine glass. "I was twenty-two. I didn't know what I was talking about. I was trying to keep you on the path."
"The path was killing me."
"And this isn't?" Eva gestured around the bar, her hand sweeping over the shadowed corners, the silent, limping barman, the dusty history on the walls. "Delivering noodles in the rain? Living above a dive bar? You’re smarter than everyone in this room, Rory. You’re smarter than me. And look at us."
Rory looked. She really looked. She saw the fatigue etched into the corners of Eva’s eyes, the tension held in the set of her shoulders. Eva looked like a woman who was running a race she was terrified of losing. She looked expensive, successful, and incredibly brittle.
Then Rory looked at her own reflection in the back bar mirror. Her straight black hair was pulled back, practical and severe. Her eyes were bright, alert. She was tired, yes, but it was a physical tiredness, earned by miles on the road and stairs climbed. It wasn't the soul-deep exhaustion of performing a role she hated.
"I'm not unhappy," Rory said, and realized with a jolt of surprise that it was true.
Eva scoffed, a harsh, incredulous sound. "Please. You’re Aurora Carter. You don't settle."
"I didn't settle. I exited." Rory turned fully toward her friend. "I woke up every day in Cardiff feeling like I was wearing a corset that was getting tighter. Everyone had an idea of who I was supposed to be. My dad, the uni, Evan... even you. Especially you."
"I just wanted the best for you."
"You wanted me to be you," Rory said. "You wanted a partner in the firm. A mirror."
Eva stared at her, her mouth slightly open. The accusation landed, not with a bang, but with the dull thud of undeniable truth. She took another drink, finishing the glass in a gulp that betrayed a desperate need for the alcohol.
"I hate it," Eva whispered. The confession slid out before she could stop it. "I hate the firm. I hate the partners. I haven't slept through the night in six months."
Rory felt a phantom ache, a ghost of the old friendship trying to bridge the gap. She wanted to reach out, to cover Eva’s hand with her own. But the distance was too great now. It was filled with three years of silence and two entirely different worlds.
"Then leave," Rory said.
"I can't. I have the mortgage. The lease on the Audi. The expectations." Eva laughed, a brittle, jagged sound. "I can't just... pack a bag and disappear to Soho. We can't all be runaways, Rory."
The word hung there. *Runaway.*
Rory stood up. The legs of her stool scraped against the floor. "I didn't run away, Eva. I ran *toward* something. Even if it’s just the right to breathe without asking permission."
She checked her watch . "I have to go. Shift starts in twenty."
Eva looked up, her eyes glossy, the hard shell trembling. "You're leaving? Just like that?"
"I have a job to do." Rory reached into her pocket, pulled out a crumpled five-pound note, and placed it on the bar next to Eva’s empty glass. "For the drink."
"Rory," Eva said, her voice dropping. "If I... if I called you. Would you answer?"
Rory looked down at her. She saw the shared history, the sleepovers, the revision sessions, the desperate terrifying nights. She also saw the judgment, the refusal to understand, the heavy weight of a life Rory had severed with a surgical cut.
"I don't have the same number," Rory said.
She didn't offer the new one.
Rory turned and walked toward the door. As she passed the end of the bar, Silas looked up. He caught her eye—a brief, acknowledging nod. He understood the weight of the past, and the necessity of leaving it buried.
She pushed open the door and stepped out into the rain. The cold air hit her face, sharp and clean, smelling of exhaust and wet pavement. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and felt the tightness in her chest loosen. behind her, the green neon sign buzzed, and the door to The Raven's Nest swung shut, sealing the past inside with the maps of countries that no longer existed.