Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQXCAVYM07Q6C9N4WSBN5G

The Raven's Nest hummed with the murmur of clinking glasses and low conversations. Dim lights cast soft shadows against the peeling wallpaper, revealing maps of a long-forgotten London. The air felt thick with an unspoken history, punctuated by the distinct scent of aged whiskey and smoke. Aurora Carter, or Rory as everyone called her, leaned against the bar, her fingers tracing the crescent scar on her left wrist. She absently watched Silas serve a group of patrons. His silvery signet ring glinted under the muted overhead light. Time had added grey streaks to his hair, yet the sharpness in his hazel eyes remained unchanged, a reminder of the man she once knew. “Beer looks good. Strong enough to drive out old ghosts?” Silas's voice cut through the noise, smooth and low. “Depends on the ghosts, doesn’t it?” Rory replied, her gaze fixed on the cold pint sitting before her. The amber liquid shimmered, mirroring the chaos of memories that brewed in her mind. Silas chuckled lightly, wiping a glass dry. “Well, I don’t have any strong brews tonight, only the usual. Unless you’re feeling adventurous?” Rory flashed him a smile, the corners of her mouth turning upwards, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I think I’ll keep it simple.” Suddenly, the bell above the entrance clanged, drawing both their eyes. A tall figure stepped inside, drenched from the London rain, shaking droplets from his old leather jacket. Rory squinted, recognition blooming in her chest, followed by an uneasy twist. “Evan,” she muttered, the name slipping from her lips like a bitter pill. His eyes scanned the dim bar, pausing on a familiar face. “Rory?” he called out, disbelief lacing his tone. She braced herself as he approached. Evan’s presence felt heavy, like an iron ball dragging behind him. He had changed, no doubt; the boy she knew had morphed into a man sculpted by hardship. The shadows under his eyes told stories of sleepless nights and battles fought. “Long time no see,” he said, an uneasy smile attempting to bridge the years. “Yeah, well, life happens,” Rory replied, her voice steady but cool, betraying none of the anxiety that twisted her stomach. “Still working as a delivery driver, I see.” He gestured to her uniform with an odd mixture of pride and condescension. “Part-time. Planning on moving up soon,” she countered, meeting his gaze head-on. The weight of old resentments simmered beneath the surface. “Good to hear. Cardiff must be boring now that you’re…” He trailed off, glancing around the bar, searching for something to anchor their conversation. “Since I moved?” Rory raised an eyebrow, allowing him to squirm. “You could say that.” Evan chuckled lightly, his laughter lacking warmth. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a way that sparked a familiar discomfort. She remembered when they used to laugh until tears streamed down their cheeks. Back then, everything felt simple, light—until it wasn’t. Silas, sensing the tension, slid a whiskey glass across the bar towards Rory. “Here, this one’s on the house." “Thanks,” she said absently, still focused on Evan, who fidgeted, running a hand through his damp hair. “Got a minute?” he said, gesturing towards a secluded corner table shrouded in shadows. “Why?” Rory snapped, her heart pounding. “You just want to recap old times?” “I’m not here to make trouble,” Evan said, the softness in his voice contrasting sharply with her guardedness. Rory glanced at Silas, who raised an eyebrow as if searching for an answer in her expression. He watched from behind the bar, arms crossed, silently assessing the situation. “Fine,” she conceded. “Just for a moment.” They slipped into the corner, the din of the bar muted as they entered their own bubble of awkwardness. Evan leaned back, but the tension in his rigid posture betrayed his attempt at ease. “So… you’ve changed. A lot.” “Doesn’t matter,” Rory replied, eyes focused on the scratched table. “What’s the point of discussing the past?” He leaned forward, peering intently. “Because we can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist. What I did… how I was…” “Was?” she interrupted, sharp as broken glass. “You still are. Just because you’ve thrown on a different suit doesn’t mean the monster has disappeared.” Evan’s face fell. “Rory, I’m trying here. You don’t think I regret those days?” “You regret being caught,” she snapped. “You regret losing control. Not me. I fled.” She crossed her arms, feeling small yet powerful, knowing she had escaped, even if the scars remained. He fell silent, mouth opening and closing as if searching for the right words. The intimacy they once shared lay in shards between them. Regret punctured the air, heavy and suffocating. “Have you seen anyone since…” He hesitated, the tender memory lodged in his throat. “Since you? No. And I won’t.” It felt liberating to say that, yet the glimmer of possibility dimmed something inside. Evan swallowed hard. “You deserve better than what I…” “Don’t pretend like you care,” Rory interjected, cutting through the tension, her resolve sliding into defensiveness. “You chose your path.” “Doesn’t mean I don’t think about it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Really think about it. About you.” Silence filled the space, hanging thick around them. She met his gaze, a torrent of emotions swirling behind his brown eyes—longing, guilt, and perhaps a flicker of remorse. “Do you want to apologize?” she asked, disbelief lacing her words. “No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I want to understand. I want you to know—” “Understand what? The lies? The promises made then broken? The scars I carry every day?” Evan’s face tightened, the rawness of her words cutting into him. “I didn’t ask you to forgive me,” he shot back, a hint of anger lacing his tone. “I’m here because I care enough not to ignore it anymore.” “Caring doesn’t erase the past. It’s a nice thought, though.” Rory took a deep breath, leaning back against the cool wood of the table, feeling the bar sway around them—a world brighter and more alive than the darkness they lingered in. “What do you want from me?” she asked after a moment, her voice lowered, less aggressive but filled with doubt. “I want you to know that I’ve changed too. That I’m not that person anymore.” The bitterness tinged her laughter, cold and sharp. “And I’m supposed to believe that?” “Believe what you want,” Evan replied, his disappointment clear. “But I’m not the enemy here.” “Not anymore,” Rory agreed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He nodded slowly, the weight of unspoken regrets settling between them once again. Rory glanced back towards the bar, catching Silas’s eye. He nodded slightly, a reminder that beneath the tangled mess of history, a steady heartbeat rushed on—life waited, relentless and unforgiving. Evan shifted, uncertainty pooling in his expression. “Maybe I’ll come around again,” he said. “And we can talk. For real this time.” “Maybe.” She met his gaze without flinching, but the word hung heavy in the air. Time had stretched between them, leaving gaps she couldn’t fill with old promises or friendly platitudes. The floors of their lives felt distance apart, but they lingered in this moment—two figures, shadows of who they once were, forever marked by the scars of their choices. And as they sat in that dim corner, framed by flickering light, Rory realized some ghosts neither faded nor disappeared. They just waited for a chance to resurface.