Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0T73TDNN56WBMDSNZM1F2

The first deadbolt thunked open. Then the second. The third, the stiffest, scraped home with a final, protesting groan. The door swung inward, revealing a slice of Eva’s chaotic world. Rory stood there, her delivery uniform a splash of garish orange against the muted tones of the hallway. She held a cardboard box, the smell of garlic and sesame oil wafting from it. Eva blinked, her face a mask of confusion. She had a smear of ink on her cheek and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun that was already losing its fight with gravity. “Rory? I didn’t order—” “It’s not for you.” Rory stepped past her, into the flat, her movements sharp and deliberate. She nudged the door shut with the heel of her trainer, the three locks engaging again with a series of heavy clicks. The sound was final. A lock turning on more than just the door. She scanned the room. Books were stacked in teetering columns, scrolls lay unfurled across the floor like shed skins, and papers were pinned to every available inch of wall space with what looked like a collection of antique daggers. A fat tabby cat, Ptolemy, lifted his head from a nest of what looked like very important maps, blinked his green eyes once, and went back to sleep. “Then what are you doing here?” Eva’s voice was low, cautious. She crossed her arms, a defensive posture Rory knew well. Rory placed the food box on the only clear patch of table, a small circle of wood next to a precariously balanced stack of leather-bound tomes. She turned, and the cool, detached delivery person persona fell away. The exhaustion of the day, the weariness that went bone-deep, settled into her features. “I needed to see you.” Eva flinched, a barely perceptible movement. “You have my number.” “I needed to see your face.” Rory’s voice was flat, devoid of the plea she felt coiling in her gut. She wouldn’t give it voice. Not yet. Not here. Silence stretched between them, thick with the ghosts of their last conversation. The shouting. The slammed door. The weeks of radio silence that had felt like a slow suffocation. The air in the flat, usually smelling of old paper and dust, now tasted of unspoken words. “You can’t just show up here, Rory.” Eva’s gaze dropped to the floor, to a scroll covered in spidery, archaic script. “It’s not fair.” “Fair?” Rory let out a short, harsh laugh that held no humour. “You want to talk to me about fair? After everything with Evan, after you told me to run, to leave my entire life behind… you want to talk about what’s fair?” “I was trying to help you!” “You were trying to manage me! You decided what was best, you packed my bags, you put me on a train to London with a hundred quid and a pat on the head. You didn’t ask, Eva. You told.” “I was scared for you!” “And I wasn’t?” Rory’s voice rose, the control finally snapping. “I was the one living it! I was the one looking at the man I thought I loved and seeing a stranger! But you took that choice away from me. You took my fear and you turned it into your project.” Eva’s shoulders slumped. The anger seemed to drain out of her, leaving only a profound sadness. She sank into a worn armchair, the fabric groaning under her weight. The cat on the floor stirred, annoyed, and shifted to a new position. “I know.” Her voice was a whisper. “I know I did. I just… I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen again.” “Again?” Eva looked up, her eyes glistening. “Like with my sister. I just… I saw the signs and I panicked. I thought if I could just get you out, get you away, it would fix everything. I thought it was better for you to be angry with me and safe than… the alternative.” The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. It was the piece Rory hadn’t known she was missing. The frantic, almost manic energy Eva had possessed during those last few weeks in Cardiff suddenly had a name. Grief. Fear. Rory walked over to the armchair, her steps slow. She didn’t sit. She just stood there, looking down at the woman who had been her best friend since they were five, who had shared her sweets and her secrets and her entire history. “You should have told me.” “I didn’t know how.” Eva’s hands twisted in her lap. “By the time I realised how badly I’d messed it all up, you were already gone. You were working that delivery job and living above a bar and you wouldn’t answer my calls.” “I was angry.” “I know.” “I was hurt.” “I know.” Rory crouched down, bringing herself to Eva’s level. The scent of old paper and Eva’s familiar jasmine tea filled her senses. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above Eva’s clenched fist. “I’m still hurt,” she said, her voice softer now. “But I’m tired, Eva. I’m so tired of being angry.” Eva finally looked at her, really looked at her. Her eyes traced the lines of exhaustion on Rory’s face, the new wariness in her bright blue eyes that hadn’t been there before London. Before everything. “I’m sorry, Rory.” The words were ragged, torn from her throat. “I am so, so sorry.” Rory’s fingers finally made contact, resting gently on top of Eva’s hand. She didn’t pull away. She let her hand stay there, a fragile bridge across the chasm that had opened between them. “I know.” The silence that followed was different. It wasn’t heavy with unsaid accusations. It was quiet. Pensive. The cat let out a soft purr. The sounds of Brick Lane, the sirens and the shouted conversations, drifted up from the street below, a distant reminder of the world outside their small, paper-filled bubble. Rory’s gaze fell on the box of food she’d brought. “It’s probably cold by now.” Eva managed a weak smile. “Golden Empress?” “Yu-Fei gave me a discount. Said I looked like I needed a proper meal.” “I do.” Eva’s fingers uncurled, and she turned her hand over, lacing her fingers through Rory’s. Her touch was warm, familiar. A lifeline. “We both do.”