Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR5XFXS19RA24ZBK85TS0G

The green neon sign buzzed faintly as Rory pushed open the heavy wooden door of The Raven’s Nest. The smell of aged whiskey and polished wood hit her like a comfort she hadn’t realised she’d missed. The bar was quiet tonight, save for the low hum of conversation from a couple of regulars seated at the far end. Silas stood behind the counter, polishing a glass with the meticulous precision of a man who took pride in his craft. He glanced up, nodded once, and returned to his task without a word. Rory headed for her usual spot, a corner booth with a clear view of the room. She’d barely settled in when the door creaked open again. A man stepped in, tall and broad-shouldered, his silhouette momentarily framed by the pale streetlight outside. He hesitated, scanning the room, and Rory froze. The angle of his jaw, the way he carried himself—she knew that posture, that familiar tilt of the head. It was Evan. Her breath caught. Evan looked different. His once unruly blond hair was neatly cropped, and the boyish charm she remembered had hardened into something sharper, more deliberate. He wore a tailored suit, the kind that spoke of money and power, and his eyes—those piercing grey eyes—locked onto hers the moment they met. He strode over, his steps measured, and slid into the booth across from her. “Rory.” His voice was deeper now, rougher, but still carried that faint lilt she used to find endearing. “Evan.” She leaned back, her fingers tracing the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist. “You’re a long way from Cardiff.” He shrugged, a gesture that felt rehearsed. “Business brought me to London. I didn’t expect to find you here.” “Small world.” Her tone was light, but her mind raced. Memories she’d buried came rushing back—the late-night phone calls, the promises, the fights. The night she left. Silas approached the table, his presence a quiet reassurance. “Can I get you anything?” Evan glanced at Rory’s glass. “Whiskey. Neat.” Silas nodded and retreated without another word. Evan leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. “You look good.” “So do you.” She studied him, searching for traces of the man she’d known. “You’ve changed.” “Haven’t we all?” His gaze flickered to her scar, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. “Still got that scar, I see.” “Reminder of the past.” She took a sip of her drink, the bitterness grounding her. “What brings you to London? You never struck me as the corporate type.” “People change, Rory.” His voice was tight, as though the words were a shield. “I’m in acquisitions now. Mergers, takeovers. You’d be surprised how cutthroat it can be.” “Sounds stressful.” “It pays the bills.” He paused as Silas returned with his whiskey. Evan took a quick sip, his expression unreadable. “What about you? What are you doing these days?” “Delivery driver. Part-time.” She didn’t elaborate, didn’t mention the flat upstairs or the life she’d built away from him. “Still aiming for that law degree?” She shook her head. “That was my father’s dream, not mine.” He studied her, his gaze calculating. “You always were too smart for that kind of life.” “And you always had a knack for saying the right thing.” She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Evan leaned back, his expression softening. “I’ve missed you, Rory.” “Have you?” The question hung between them, heavy with unspoken accusations. He hesitated, then nodded. “More than I realised.” Silence settled over the table, broken only by the faint clink of glasses from the bar. Rory traced the rim of her glass, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She’d imagined this moment countless times—what she’d say, how she’d feel. But now that it was here, she felt adrift, unsure of how to navigate the uncharted waters between them. “Why’d you leave?” His voice was low, almost pained. She met his gaze, her blue eyes steady. “You know why.” He flinched, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “I wasn’t myself back then.” “And now?” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that felt achingly familiar. “I’ve changed, Rory. I’m not that person anymore.” She didn’t immediately respond, her thoughts swirling like the ice in her glass. “People don’t change that much, Evan.” He leaned forward, his intensity palpable. “I’ve spent years trying to prove that wrong. To myself, to you. I’d do anything to make things right.” She shook her head, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Some things can’t be fixed.” His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she saw the shadow of the man she’d left behind. “You think I don’t know that? That I haven’t lived with it every damn day?” Rory folded her arms, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. “We both made choices, Evan. You can’t rewrite the past.” He slammed his glass down, the sound echoing in the quiet bar. Several patrons glanced their way, but Silas gave Rory a subtle nod, a silent reminder that she wasn’t alone. Evan leaned back, his frustration giving way to a weary resignation. “I didn’t come here to fight.” “Then why did you come?” He hesitated, his gaze searching hers. “I came because I needed to see you. To know that you’re okay.” She nodded, her expression softening. “I am.” He let out a slow breath, as if releasing a weight he’d been carrying for years. “Good. That’s good.” They sat in silence, the tension between them slowly ebbing away. The years apart stretched like a chasm, filled with regrets and what-ifs, but for the first time, Rory felt a sense of closure, a quiet acceptance of the paths they’d chosen. Evan finished his whiskey and stood, his movements deliberate. “Take care of yourself, Rory.” She watched him go, his silhouette disappearing into the night. The door swung shut, and the bar seemed to settle back into its usual rhythm. Silas approached her table, his hazel eyes intent. “Everything okay?” She nodded, her gaze drifting to the empty space where Evan had been. “Just ghosts of the past.” He gave her a knowing look, his presence a silent anchor. “Ghosts have a habit of showing up when you least expect them.” She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing the scar on her wrist. “Maybe it’s time to stop running from them.” Silas nodded, his expression unwavering. “Maybe.” Rory finished her drink, the warmth of the whiskey mingling with the bittersweet ache of memory. The past was behind her now, a chapter closed, but the future—raw and uncertain—loomed ahead. And for the first time in years, she felt ready to face it.