Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQQSNWQ1VS9T0634QAGRCG

The Raven's Nest pulsed with the soft hum of low chatter and the clinking of glasses. The green neon sign above the entrance buzzed gently, casting an otherworldly glow as Aurora—Rory, as she preferred—angled her way inside. She favored the bar after a long day delivering hot dishes around the city. Silas always kept a corner booth aside for her, a place to unwind and forget the demands of the day. Tonight, the room seemed no different. The dim lighting reflected off the polished wood tables, casting shadows across the black-and-white photographs on the walls. Rory's bright blue eyes scanned for Silas, spotting him effortlessly. He leaned against the bar with his usual quiet authority, hazel eyes taking in everything and everyone present. The silver signet ring on his right hand caught the light. "Si," she called with a half-smile, making her way toward him. A lift of his eyebrows greeted her. "Rory. Thirsty?" She nodded, sliding into the stool at the bar. "The usual, please." As he turned to pour her drink, the door opened again, letting in a burst of cool evening air. Rory glanced over, not expecting much. But then her breath caught. The man standing there, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, seemed both hauntingly familiar and yet a stranger. He was tall, with shoulders that appeared broader than she remembered. His face was sharper, more defined, shadowed by a day's growth of stubble. There was an intensity in his eyes, a seriousness that belied the youthful energy of his past self. "Evan?" she murmured, almost to herself. Silas cast a quick glance at her before returning to the bottles. "Friend of yours?" He met her gaze, and she shook her head, biting her lip. Evan’s eyes landed on her. Recognition flickered there, followed by something more complex: surprise, regret, perhaps a trace of longing. He walked over, his steps measured, confident. "Rory." His voice was deeper, carrying undertones of fatigue and experience. She didn't stand. "Evan. It's been a while." Her fingers wrapped around the glass Silas handed her, the cold seeping into her skin. He took the stool beside her, not yet ordering a drink. Instead, his eyes roamed over her face, as if re-mapping familiar territory with an unfamiliar guide. "It has. Four years?" His voice was softer now, like he was treading on delicate ground. "Five." She sipped her drink, watching him over the rim. "But who's counting?" A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a glimpse of the old him. "Still the same Rory. Sharp as ever." "Not everything stays the same." She looked away, focusing on the reflection of the bar in the mirror behind Silas. "What brings you here?" His shoulders seemed to tense a bit. "Work. Just passing through." His eyes held hers again, searching for a reaction. "Passing through." She let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh. "Always a traveller." He leaned back, a shadow crossing his face. "Sometimes, it's better that way." Silas moved to another patron, leaving the two of them in a cocoon of past bitterness and unspoken words. The tension was palpable, a weight pressing on both of them. Rory broke the silence first. "You've changed." He raised an eyebrow. "You haven't. Not really. Still beautiful, still that fire in your eyes." She shook her head. "It's more than that. You used to be..." She searched for the right word, "lighter." "We all grow up sometime, Rory." His voice carried a hint of sadness. "Some of us don't have a choice." She frowned. "Choices. They're always there, Evan. Whether we see them or not." He gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Spoken like someone who hasn't walked the paths I have." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend like you know my life. You left. You gave that up." He opened his mouth, then closed it, struggling with the response. His hand flexed on the bar top, as if wanting to reach out but restrained. "I'm sorry," he finally said, the words heavy. "For everything." She looked into his eyes, those deep wells of regret and unspoken stories. "It’s in the past, Evan. We're different people now." He swallowed hard. "But does it ever really go away?" Rory took a long sip, then set her glass down. "No. It doesn't. But it shapes us." Silas returned, wiping down the portion of the bar nearest them. He seemed to sense the need to stay nearby, an almost protective presence for Rory. Evan took the cue, shifting slightly. "You always were wise beyond your years." "And you—you were reckless," she replied. "A whirlwind that couldn't be tamed." He nodded slowly. "I thought I could be better for you, Rory. But maybe my leaving was the best thing." "It hurt. You hurt me." The bluntness of her confession hung in the air, a raw truth between them. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "I know. And I regret it every day." Silence fell once more, but it was different now—filled with the echoes of their shared past, the memories that still linked them despite everything. "I’m glad you're doing well." He finally broke the silence again, his voice almost tentative. "Are you? Doing well, I mean." She couldn't help but ask, needing to know. He hesitated, then nodded. "As well as one can be. Life has its ups and downs." She appreciated the honesty in his voice. "It does. For all of us." For a moment, they simply sat there, side by side at the bar, unspoken feelings swirling in the dim light. Evan took a breath, as if preparing to continue, but Rory held up a hand. "Another round, Silas. For the visitor too." Silas nodded curtly, understanding the gravity of the moment without a single word. The glasses clinked as he set them down. Evan picked up his drink, raising it slightly. "To old friends, and the paths we walk." Rory clinked her glass against his. "To the paths we've walked—and the ones yet to come." They drank, the warmth spreading through them. In that shared silence, a fragile bridge began to build over the chasm of time and regret. Their story wasn’t over, but for now, this small connection was enough.