Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRBZA45ATBGT6CKYMFR0WE

The green neon sign buzzed faintly above the entrance to The Raven’s Nest, casting an eerie glow on the damp pavement. Rory pushed her bike into the shadows of the alley beside the bar, the wheels clicking softly as she leaned it against the brick wall. Her jacket clung to her shoulders, damp from the drizzle that had followed her all the way from Golden Empress. She shook her hair out, the black strands sticking to her face, and stepped inside. The warmth of the bar hit her like a blanket, the low hum of conversation wrapping around her. The familiar scent of whiskey and sawdust filled her lungs. Silas stood behind the bar, polishing a glass with the kind of precision that spoke of years of practice. His hazel eyes flicked up as she entered, and he gave her a nod, the silver signet ring on his right hand catching the light. “Evening, Rory,” he said, his voice gravelly but warm. “Evening, Si.” She slid onto a stool, fingers tapping lightly on the wooden counter. “Long day?” “Same as any other.” He set the glass down and reached for a bottle of her usual. “You look like you could use this.” She smirked, accepting the glass with a nod. “Perceptive as ever.” The bar was quieter than usual for a Saturday night. A couple occupied a corner booth, their heads bent close together in conversation. A man in a worn leather jacket nursed a pint at the far end of the bar. Rory sipped her drink, the burn of the whiskey grounding her. Her gaze drifted to the bookshelf that concealed the hidden room, her thoughts momentarily wandering to the last time she’d been back there. The door creaked open behind her, letting in a gust of cool air. Rory didn’t turn, too absorbed in the warmth of her drink and the low murmur of the bar. But then a voice cut through the noise, sharp and unexpected. “Rory Carter.” She froze, the glass halfway to her lips. The voice was familiar, yet altered, like a song played on a slightly out-of-tune piano. She turned slowly, her bright blue eyes narrowing as they landed on the figure in the doorway. Evan. He stood there, taller than she remembered, his lean frame draped in a tailored coat that screamed money. His dark hair was slicked back, the faintest hint of silver at his temples. But it was his eyes that caught her—cold, calculating, and utterly foreign. “Evan,” she said, her voice steady despite the churn in her stomach. She set the glass down, her fingers curling around the edge of the bar. He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking against the wooden floor. “It’s been a while.” “Five years.” She tilted her head, studying him. “You’ve changed.” “So have you.” His gaze flicked over her, lingering on the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist before meeting her eyes again. “Still delivering takeaway?” “Still sniffing your own farts?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. He chuckled, but it lacked warmth. “Still quick with the comebacks, I see.” Silas cleared his throat, drawing their attention. He leaned against the bar, his hazel eyes sharp. “Everything alright, Rory?” She nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Just catching up with an old friend.” Silas didn’t look convinced, but he stepped back, giving them space. Evan slid onto the stool beside her, signaling for a drink. The bartender hesitated, glancing at Rory, but she nodded almost imperceptibly. “Whiskey,” Evan said. “Neat.” Silas poured the drink, set it down with a clink, and retreated to the other end of the bar. Evan swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his gaze distant. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” “Life’s full of surprises,” she replied, her tone light but edged with something sharper. “You’re a long way from Cardiff.” “Business brought me to London.” He took a sip, his lips pressing into a thin line. “And you?” “Living the dream.” She raised her glass in a mock toast. “One delivery at a time.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You always did have a knack for downplaying your achievements.” “And you always had a knack for overestimating them.” She leaned back, her arms crossed. “What’s the angle, Evan? You didn’t just stumble in here by accident.” He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the glass. “I heard you were in London. Thought I’d look you up.” “Bullshit.” Her voice was soft, but the word cut through the air like a blade. “You don’t do anything without a reason.” He set the glass down, his expression hardening. “Fine. I wanted to see you. To see if…” “If what?” She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “If I still carry the bruises? If I’ve forgiven you? If I’ve moved on?” His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “I didn’t come here to fight.” “Then why did you come?” Her voice was low, but there was no mistaking the anger simmering beneath the surface. “To apologize? Too late for that. To explain? Nothing you say will change what you did.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I needed closure.” “Closure?” She laughed, the sound bitter. “You don’t get closure, Evan. You don’t get to waltz back into my life and expect me to give you absolution.” He stared at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I’ve changed, Rory.” “Have you?” She tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re still the same selfish bastard who broke everything he touched.” He flinched, his hands knotting together on the bar. “I’m trying to make amends.” “Amends?” She shook her head, her lips curling into a humorless smile. “You can’t make amends for what you did. You can’t undo the damage.” “Then what do you want from me?” His voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I’ve spent years trying to forget you, but I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about what I lost.” “What you lost?” Her voice rose, drawing a few glances from the other patrons. “You didn’t lose anything, Evan. You threw it away. You threw *me* away.” He reached for her hand, but she jerked back, her eyes blazing. “Don’t.” “Rory, please.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.” She stared at him, her chest rising and falling with each breath. “Sorry doesn’t fix broken bones. Sorry doesn’t heal scars.” She held up her wrist, the crescent-shaped mark stark against her skin. “Sorry doesn’t erase the past.” He looked away, his face pale. “I was wrong. I know that now.” “Good for you.” She slid off the stool, her movements sharp and deliberate. “But it doesn’t change anything. You don’t get to rewrite the story, Evan. Not with me.” He stood, his hands clenched at his sides. “Rory—” “Don’t.” She held up a hand, her voice cold. “You don’t get to say my name like you own it. You don’t get to pretend you care. You had your chance, and you blew it.” He stared at her, his expression crumbling. “I’ll leave. If that’s what you want.” “It’s not about what I want.” Her voice softened, but it carried a finality that left no room for argument. “It’s about what I deserve.” He nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the bar, the door swinging shut behind him. Rory stood there for a moment, her chest tight, before sinking back onto the stool. Silas appeared at her side, refilling her glass without a word. She exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair. “Thanks, Si.” “You alright?” he asked, his voice low. She nodded, lifting the glass to her lips. “Yeah. Just… old ghosts.” He gave her a sympathetic look but said nothing. The bar settled back into its rhythm, the hum of conversation filling the silence. Rory stared at the door, her drink forgotten in her hand. Five years had passed, but some wounds never healed. Some scars never faded. And some people never changed, no matter how much you wished they would.