Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR5FZJCN30335PDZNEZWSY

The Raven's Nest hummed with its usual Tuesday night crowd—not packed, but comfortably populated with the kind of regulars who made the place feel lived-in. Aurora wiped down glasses behind the bar, covering for Silas who'd disappeared into his office twenty minutes ago with a frown and a muttered comment about "bloody paperwork." The green neon sign outside cast an otherworldly glow through the windows, painting emerald highlights across the liquor bottles. "Another gin and tonic for Maeve over there," Aurora told herself, mixing the drink with practiced efficiency. Three months of helping out at the Nest had given her skills she'd never imagined needing during those stuffy pre-law lectures. The door swung open, letting in a gust of London's autumn chill. Aurora glanced up, then froze, the bottle of tonic water suspended mid-pour. James Harrington stood in the doorway, shaking raindrops from his coat. His once wild, curly hair was cut into a severe side part, his formerly lanky frame filled out with the solid weight of someone who'd discovered protein shakes and regular gym visits. Five years. Five years since university, since they'd walked different paths after graduation. Five years since her last unanswered text to him. James scanned the bar, clearly looking for someone, when his gaze landed on her. His eyes widened, recognition dawning instantly despite the dim lighting. "Rory?" He moved toward the bar, weaving between tables with an assured stride that the James she'd known never possessed. Aurora finished pouring the drink mechanically. "Maeve's gin and tonic," she called out, sliding it down the bar to the waiting server. She wiped her hands on a cloth, buying precious seconds to compose herself. "Didn't expect to see you here," James said, settling onto a bar stool directly in front of her. "I work here. Part-time." Aurora gestured vaguely around the bar. "What about you? Bit far from Canary Wharf, isn't it?" James tilted his head. "How'd you know I work there?" "LinkedIn updates." The admission felt more vulnerable than it should have. "Congratulations on the promotion. Investment banking suits you, apparently." He laughed—a clipped, controlled sound nothing like the full-body laugh that used to make her sides hurt from laughing along. "Thanks. Meeting a client here, actually. He insisted—said it has character." "That it does." Aurora reached for a glass. "What can I get you?" "Macallan 18, neat." Aurora raised an eyebrow. "Expensive taste these days." "Company card." He tapped his breast pocket where a wallet peeked out. She poured his drink, sliding it across the polished wood. Their fingers didn't touch—she made sure of that. "So," James swirled the amber liquid, "bartending. That's... different from what you planned." "I deliver Chinese food too," Aurora said with a sharpness she hadn't intended. "Law school didn't work out." "I remember you were top of our class." He took a careful sip. "What happened?" What happened. As if five years could be summed up in a neat little package. "Life," Aurora said simply. "Evan happened. Cardiff happened. I needed a change." James nodded slowly, recognition flickering across his face at Evan's name. "I never liked him." "You never said anything." "Would you have listened?" The question hung between them, charged with all the history they weren't saying. "Probably not," she admitted. "I was stubborn." "Was?" James smiled, a glimpse of the old warmth breaking through his polished exterior. Aurora laughed despite herself. "Fair enough." She glanced around the bar, grateful it wasn't busy enough to pull her away from this unexpected collision of past and present. "You look good, Rory." James' voice softened. "Different, but good." "Different how?" She couldn't help asking. He considered her, eyes tracing the changes five years had carved into her. "Steadier, maybe. Like you've found your footing." "Funny, I was thinking you look less like yourself." James stiffened slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?" "The haircut. The watch." Aurora nodded toward the gleaming timepiece on his wrist that probably cost more than her monthly rent. "The single malt scotch. It's all very... curated." "It's called growing up," he replied, defensive edge creeping into his tone. "We can't all hang onto our university personas forever." "Is that what you think I'm doing?" "Aren't you? Working odd jobs, living above a bar in Soho?" Aurora felt heat rising in her cheeks. "You don't know the first thing about my life now." "Whose fault is that?" James drained his glass, setting it down harder than necessary. "You disappeared, Rory. After graduation, after Evan—you just vanished." "I texted you." "Once. To say you were 'fine' and 'needed space.' That's not exactly keeping in touch." The weight of unspoken words pressed down on them. Behind James, the door opened again, and a man in an expensive suit glanced around the bar. "Your client's here," Aurora nodded toward the door. James didn't turn. "He can wait." "Very un-banker-like of you." "Maybe I'm not as changed as you think." Aurora reached for his empty glass. "Another?" "Please." She poured a second drink, buying time with the ritual of it. When she looked up again, James was studying the photographs on the wall behind the bar—black and white scenes of London through the decades. "Remember that photography class we took?" he asked. "The one you dragged me to because you needed an 'artistic eye' for your stupid blog?" "God, that blog." Aurora laughed. "What was it called again?" "'Cardiff Confessions.' You wanted to be the next great gonzo journalist." "While studying pre-law. I contained multitudes." "You still do, apparently." James gestured around the bar. "Delivery person, bartender... what else?" "Occasional locksmith for Silas when the storeroom door sticks." She leaned against the counter. "What about you? Banking by day, what else?" James shrugged. "Not much time for else. Work keeps me busy." "Happy?" The question seemed to catch him off guard. "Successful," he answered after a pause. "Not the same thing." "No," he agreed softly. "It's not." Aurora noticed his client checking his watch impatiently. "You should probably—" "I know." James didn't move. "Did you ever wonder? What might have happened if—" "If I'd stayed? If you'd come after me? If we'd chosen differently?" Aurora cut him off, heart suddenly hammering against her ribs. "Of course I did." "And?" "And nothing. We made our choices." James reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card, and slid it across the bar. "My number. It's changed since... before." Aurora looked at the card but didn't pick it up. "What am I supposed to do with this?" "Call me. Text me. Throw it away." He stood, adjusting his tie. "Just don't disappear again." "James—" "I'm not asking for anything, Rory. Just..." He gestured vaguely between them. "Just don't let it be another five years." She nodded, finally taking the card, turning it over in her fingers. "Your client's getting antsy," she said. "Right." James straightened his already-straight tie. "How much for the drinks?" "On the house." "Rory—" "Consider it my investment in your very important banking meeting." A smile—his real smile, the one she remembered—broke through. "I'll see you around, Carter." "Maybe you will, Harrington." She watched him cross to his waiting client, all smooth confidence and professional charm. Just as he sat down, Silas emerged from his office, limping slightly as he approached the bar. "Who was that?" Silas asked, his eyes following her gaze. "Old friend." Aurora tucked the business card into her pocket. "Ancient history." Silas gave her an appraising look. "History has a way of repeating itself." "Not this time," Aurora said, but even to her own ears, it sounded unconvincing. Across the room, James laughed at something his client said—that new, controlled laugh that didn't reach his eyes. Then, for just a moment, he glanced back at her, and in that brief connection, five years compressed into nothing more than a breath between sentences in their ongoing conversation. Aurora turned away first, busying herself with wiping down the already clean bar top, wondering how long she would wait before using that card, and what version of herself she would be when she did.