Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQNB7826HAY2NFPH7WTT5V

The green neon sign of The Raven's Nest cast a watery glow on the wet pavement as Rory pushed through the door. Rain had started again, a drizzle that promised to become a downpour before midnight. She straightened her delivery uniform, exhausted after a long day dropping off orders for the Golden Empress restaurant. Inside, the familiar dim lighting and scent of aged wood and polished metal welcomed her. The walls were covered with old maps and black-and-white photographs, as always. A few patrons dotted the bar, nursing their drinks in the comfortable silence that Silas cultivated. Silas stood behind the bar, drying a glass with a clean cloth. His grey-streaked auburn hair and neatly trimmed beard caught the low light as he looked up, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners when he saw her. "Rory," he said, his voice carrying the quiet authority of years past. "Long day?" "The usual," she replied with a tired smile, sliding onto a stool. "Traffic was hell, and half my deliveries couldn't find their own front doors." Silas chuckled, placing the glass upside down on the counter. "What'll it be?" "Just a Coke tonight. I'm too tired for anything stronger." As Silas moved to get her drink, the door opened, letting in a gust of wind and a new customer. Rory didn't look up immediately, but Silas's slight pause caught her attention. She turned to see a man shaking rain from his expensive coat, his presence immediately commanding despite his disheveled state. Evan. Her ex-boyfriend. The one she'd fled Cardiff to escape. Rory's breath caught. Five years had changed him. He'd filled out, his face more angular, his hair shorter than she remembered. But those eyes—she'd never forget those eyes that had once looked at her with such tenderness, then with such cruelty. His gaze swept across the bar and landed on her. Recognition flickered there, followed by surprise, then something else she couldn't quite place. Regret? Or was that just her imagination? "Aurora," he said, his voice deeper than she remembered. "Evan," she replied, her voice cool despite the tremor she felt inside. "Long time no see." "Five years, seven months," he said with a precision that unnerved her. "Not that I've been counting." Silas returned with her Coke, his eyes sharp as he glanced between them. He set the glass down, his silver signet ring glinting in the low light. "Can I get you something?" Silas asked Evan, his polite tone masking an unmistakable edge. "Scotch, neat," Evan replied, not taking his eyes off Rory. "So, London. Cardiff wasn't good enough for you anymore?" "Something like that," she said, her fingers instinctively brushing the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist—a reminder of a childhood accident that Evan had once found charming. Evan took the stool beside her, though several others were available. Silas moved to pour his drink, his slight limp more pronounced as he shifted his weight. "I heard you were here," Evan said. "From your mother, actually. She worries about you." Rory tensed. "You talked to my mother?" "Ran into her at the market. She's well. Asks about you constantly." Silas set the scotch in front of Evan, who barely acknowledged him. Rory could feel the protective energy radiating from Silas, who had taken her under his wing since she'd moved to London. "I should call her more," Rory said, more to herself than to Evan. "We all should," Evan replied, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Do more of the things we regret not doing." The weight of his words hung between them. Who were they now? The eager university students they'd been when they met? Or the people they'd become—she, a delivery girl with a Pre-Law degree she'd never use; he, whatever he was now in his expensive coat and polished shoes? "You look different," Evan said, his eyes tracing the straight black hair that fell to her shoulders. Her bright blue eyes met his in the mirror behind the bar. "Good different." "You too," she lied. He looked harder, somehow. Colder. "Life changes people," he said quietly. "I'm not the man I was." Rory couldn't stop the bitter laugh that escaped her lips. "No, you're not." Evan flinched as if she'd slapped him. Good. Let him feel a fraction of the pain she'd carried with her. "I meant what I said that last day," Evan said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "I'm sorry. For everything." Rory's fingers tightened around her glass. She'd waited years to hear those words, and now that they were here, they meant nothing. Time had moved on, and so had she. "Why now, Evan?" she asked, turning to face him fully. "Why here?" "I'm in London for business. When I saw you come in... I had to take the chance." "The chance to what? Apologize? Get closure? Rewrite history?" "All of it," he admitted. "None of it. I don't know." Rory studied him, searching for any trace of the man she'd once loved. She found strangers in familiar features. "You hurt me," she said, the words finally spoken aloud after years of silence. "I know," he replied, his eyes meeting hers. "I hurt you, and I can't take it back. But I've changed, Rory. Really changed." "People don't change," she said, echoing words her father had once told her. "Some do," Evan insisted. "I have." Silas moved to the end of the bar, giving them space but staying within earshot. His presence was a comfort, a reminder that she wasn't alone with this ghost from her past. "What do you want, Evan?" Rory asked, her voice quieter now. "To see you happy," he said simply. "And to tell you that I'm sorry. That I was wrong." Rory looked away, her gaze falling on one of the black-and-white photographs on the wall—a young Silas in some far-off place, his face determined, his future unwritten. Who had he been then? Who was he now? Time had changed them all. "I am happy," she said, and realized with surprise that it was true. Her life wasn't what she'd planned, but it was hers. "I have work, I have a home. I have friends who care about me." "Friends like him?" Evan asked, nodding toward Silas. "Friends who don't hurt me," she corrected gently. Evan finished his scotch in one swallow, then set the glass down with a decisive click. He stood, reaching into his wallet and leaving far more than enough for his drink on the bar. "I won't bother you again, Aurora," he said, using her full name, which felt strange coming from his lips. "But I meant what I said. I am sorry. And I hope you're happy. Truly." Rory nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Evan hesitated, as if waiting for something, then turned and walked out, leaving the door to swing shut behind him. Silas approached slowly, his limp more noticeable when he was tired. He removed Evan's glass and the money, his eyes questioning. "Old friend?" he asked, his voice gentle. "Something like that," Rory replied, finally taking a sip of her Coke. It was flat, the ice melted. Time had done that too—changed something refreshing into something ordinary. Silas nodded, his silver signet ring catching the light as he picked up Evan's glass. "The past has a way of finding us, doesn't it?" "Especially when we least expect it," Rory agreed. She looked toward the door, half-expecting Evan to return, but the street outside was empty except for the falling rain and the green glow of the neon sign. Time had moved forward, and so had she. The weight of regret was still there, but it was lighter now, no longer hers alone to carry.