Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNEV948PCV9DAEENYBKVRVZ

The Raven's Nest smelled of aged whiskey and wood polish, the green neon sign outside casting an eerie glow through the fogged windows. Rory wiped her damp palms on her jeans as she pushed through the door, the warmth of the bar hitting her like a wall after the chill London evening. She hadn’t planned on coming here tonight—hadn’t planned on much of anything, really, after another long shift delivering takeaway containers of steaming noodles and dumplings across the city. But her feet had carried her here anyway, drawn by the promise of something familiar in the chaos of her life. Silas was behind the bar, polishing a glass with the same meticulous care he gave to everything. His silver signet ring caught the dim light as he worked, the engraved surface glinting. He looked up as Rory approached, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. "You look like hell," he said, setting the glass down. "Thanks," Rory muttered, sliding onto a stool. "I feel like it." Silas didn’t ask. He never did. Instead, he poured her a finger of whiskey—the good stuff, the kind he kept under the counter for people who mattered—and pushed it toward her. She took it without hesitation, the burn of it steadying her nerves. The door opened again, letting in a gust of cold air and the murmur of the street outside. Rory didn’t turn, not until she heard the footsteps stop behind her. "Rory?" The voice was familiar in a way that made her stomach twist. She turned slowly, her fingers tightening around the glass. Evan stood there, his face half in shadow, his coat damp from the rain. He looked older—of course he did, it had been years—but it was more than that. The sharp edges of his jaw had softened, his dark hair shorter than she remembered, streaked with the first hints of grey. His hands were shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched as if bracing for impact. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The bar seemed to hold its breath around them. "Didn’t think I’d find you here," Evan said at last, his voice quieter than she remembered. Rory forced herself to exhale. "Yeah. Well." She glanced at Silas, who was watching them with the careful neutrality of a man who had spent a lifetime reading people. "Small world." Evan hesitated, then took the stool beside her. Close enough to talk, far enough to give her space. She wasn’t sure if she appreciated it or resented it. Silas slid another glass across the bar, this time toward Evan, who nodded his thanks but didn’t drink. His fingers tapped restlessly against the wood. "You look good," Evan said finally, his gaze flickering over her. Rory snorted. "Liar." He smiled, just a little, and for a second, she saw the boy she’d known—the one who used to make her laugh until her ribs ached. But then it was gone, replaced by something heavier. "I heard you left Cardiff," he said. "Yeah." She took another sip of whiskey, letting the silence stretch. She could feel him waiting, could almost hear the unspoken questions. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you go? "I’m sorry," Evan said at last, so softly she almost missed it. Rory stilled. She hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t looking at her now, his eyes fixed on the glass in front of him. "For a lot of things." The weight of it settled between them, thick and suffocating. She wanted to laugh, or maybe scream. Three years of silence, and this was what he led with? "You don’t get to do that," she said, her voice low. "You don’t get to walk in here and just—apologize. Like it’s that easy." Evan flinched, but he didn’t argue. "I know." Silas cleared his throat, the sound deliberate, and Rory realized her hands were shaking. She curled them into fists, the crescent scar on her left wrist a pale reminder of a time when things had been simpler. Evan finally lifted his glass, took a slow sip, and winced. "Christ, that’s strong." A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "You always were shit at holding your liquor." He grinned, just for a second, and it was so painfully familiar that something in her chest cracked open. They sat there, the two of them, in the dim light of the bar, surrounded by ghosts of who they used to be. The past was a live wire between them, humming with everything they weren’t saying. Rory finished her drink and stood. "I should go." Evan didn’t try to stop her. He just nodded, his expression unreadable. "Take care of yourself, Rory." She hesitated, then turned away, heading for the door. The cold air hit her like a slap as she stepped outside, the neon sign casting her shadow long and jagged on the pavement. Behind her, the door of The Raven’s Nest swung shut, sealing away the past once more.