Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR4YKZXZTFHR1HSFD36FRB

The Raven’s Nest hummed with the low murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter. The green neon sign outside cast a sickly glow through the rain-streaked windows, painting the wooden tables in shifting shades of jade. Rory wiped her hands on her apron, balancing a tray of empty pint glasses against her hip as she weaved between patrons. The dinner rush had thinned, leaving only the regulars—old men nursing whiskies, a couple locked in hushed argument, a lone woman in the corner scribbling in a notebook. She didn’t see him at first. The door swung open, letting in a gust of damp air, and there he was. Evan. Leaner than she remembered, his jaw sharper, his dark hair cropped close to his skull. He stood in the doorway, scanning the room, and for a heartbeat, Rory froze. The tray slipped, glasses clattering against the wood. Heads turned. Evan’s gaze locked onto hers. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She set the tray down with deliberate care, fingers brushing the crescent scar on her wrist. The one he’d given her. The one she’d tried to hide for years. Evan stepped forward, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his wool coat. "Rory." The name hung between them, heavy as the rain outside. She hadn’t heard it in years—not from him. Not like that. "Evan." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "What are you doing here?" He gestured vaguely toward the bar. "Looking for a drink. Heard this place was decent." She almost laughed. "Since when do you care about decent?" A flicker of something crossed his face—annoyance, maybe. Or shame. "People change." "Not you." The words slipped out before she could stop them. His mouth tightened, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he nodded toward the bar. "Buy you one?" She should say no. Should walk away. But the past had its hooks in her, and she found herself sliding onto a stool beside him. Silas was already there, polishing a glass with slow, methodical strokes. His hazel eyes flicked between them, sharp as broken glass. "What’ll it be?" "Whiskey," Evan said. "Neat." Rory hesitated. "Just water." Silas raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He set the drinks down and moved to the other end of the bar, giving them the illusion of privacy. Evan wrapped his fingers around the glass, knuckles white. "You look good." She didn’t answer. The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid. "You still working here?" he asked. "Part-time. Deliveries, mostly." He nodded, like that made sense. Like he hadn’t once told her she was wasting her life on menial jobs. "And the law thing?" "Didn’t take." Another nod. Another beat of silence. The ice in her water had melted, leaving it tasteless and weak. Evan exhaled through his nose. "I heard about your dad." Her fingers stilled. "Yeah." "Sorry." She shrugged. "It’s been a while." He looked at her then, really looked at her, and she saw the question in his eyes. *Why didn’t you come back?* But he didn’t ask. Maybe he already knew the answer. "You ever think about Cardiff?" he said instead. "Every day." The admission surprised her. Evan’s expression flickered, something raw and unguarded. For a second, he was the boy she’d known—the one who’d laughed too loud, who’d stolen kisses in the university library, who’d promised her the world. Then his walls went back up. He tossed back the whiskey, wincing as it burned. "I should go." She didn’t stop him. He stood, hesitated. "Take care, Rory." She watched him walk away, the door swinging shut behind him. The bar felt smaller without him in it. Silas slid a fresh glass of water toward her, condensation beading on the sides. "You okay?" She traced a finger through the wet ring on the bar. "I don’t know." Silas didn’t press. He just nodded, like he understood. Maybe he did. Outside, the rain kept falling.