Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRE2TPABM1CR8NMKWFGPHV

Aurora Carter stood behind the bar, drying glasses absent-mindedly while the dim neon glow of The Raven's Nest sign seeped through the windowpanes, casting ethereal shadows across the patrons. Her day at the Golden Empress had been long, filled with cramped London traffic and rain that refused to relent. It did nothing but deepen the fatigue beneath her eyes, which burned more brightly than ever against the orange glow of the room. Silas, perched on his usual stool near the end, tipped his hat as he noticed her gaze wander, a smirk playing on his lips. “Long day, Rory?” She rolled her eyes playfully, aligning the glasses neatly on the shelf. “Nothing I can’t handle, Si. Though your drinks inventory could use some major work.” “Noted,” Silas said, lifting his glass in mock salute, but his eyes trailed to the doorway where a lanky figure hesitated in the entrance. Silas’s voice lowered conspiratorially, “Looks like one of yours.” Aurora followed his gaze, heart stopping for a moment. The man stepped into the dim light, shaking his umbrella like a man trying to shed the weight of the world. He was taller than she remembered, a certain angular sharpness to his face that spoke of years stretched thin, yet his smile—the smile she had seen so many times—remained the same. “Alex? Alex Morris?” He turned, surprise flickering across his worn features before he broke into a grin. “Aurora Carter, as I live and breathe.” Aurora put down the towel and walked around the bar, every step echoing loudly on the hardwood floor. They stood awkwardly, the space between them overflowing with memories. “It’s been what, seven years?” Rory said, her voice catching on the words. “Something like that. God, Rory, you haven’t changed a bit,” Alex said, running a hand through damp curls. He paused, eyes tracing the small crescent scar on her wrist, a ghost from their shared youth. “Speak for yourself. You’re like a different person entirely—did you grow another three inches?” she teased, a teasing tone that barely masked the wonder in her voice. “Being in backcountry Thailand does things to you,” he replied, eyes holding secrets she couldn’t yet decipher. There was silence, weighted and dense with everything they had left unsaid over the years. “Is this your place?” “Technically, no. I just crash here. Silas let me barge in a few years back.” “Good old Silas,” Alex said, nodding. “I see he’s still the patron saint of Soho strays.” The warmth of his words obscured things unsaid—the letters she had never written, the calls he never made. “Come sit,” Aurora offered, gesturing towards a booth in the corner, quieter than the main bar. She fetched a bottle, a deep amber scotch they’d once stolen sips from as teenagers, and joined him. “Let’s drink our way back to the past." As they poured, the clinking of glass and the distant hum of conversation punctuated their silence. “So, tell me about Thailand. How’s life travelled halfway across the world?” Rory leaned back, studying him while he took a contemplative swig. “It was less about me travelling the world and more about the world travelling through me.” He caught her eye, the depth of his words sinking into her. “I’ve been doing relief work. Building, teaching. Trying not to be a stranger to my own self.” Surprised, Aurora paused, her glass halfway to her lips. “Never pegged you for the altruistic kind, Alex.” “Never seemed that way, huh?” His laughter was bitter but not without humor. “I spent a lot of time running away from the man I used to be. Figured if I kept moving, I’d outrun him.” She nodded, understanding nestled between them like a lost chapter only they had read. “And did you?” “Not entirely. But maybe enough to catch my breath.” The weight of his words drew her back to the pulse of Cardiff nights, to those dusky rooftops they’d shared with cigarettes and dreams far too big for teenagers. He had looked invincible then, full of reckless youth, with eyes wild with the promise of a world that would never break him. “What about you, Aurora? You ever find what you were searching for?” She hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “I’ve put down some roots. They’re stubborn, those things,” she said, smiling sadly. “Life didn’t turn out as straightforward as Pre-Law might’ve suggested.” They spoke more as the night wound on—all the paths not taken. Aurora shared bits of her life too, avoiding the darker patches, skirting around Evan and how the bruises faded but the shadows stayed on, even in the sterile daylight. “You’ve always been good at landing on your feet,” Alex said with admiration tracing his words. “I never doubted you for a second.” In truth, she hadn’t always landed, sometimes she’d simply stumbled back up. But what was life, if not a series of graceful falls masquerading as certainty? Their glasses emptied, refilled, and the barrier time had built softened just a little, laughter bubbling up like old times. “What do you regret, Rory?” He asked suddenly, his tone neither accusatory nor innocent. The question hung suspended between them, heavier than silence yet lighter than relief. “Leaving Cardiff,” she admitted, surprises passing over her features. “I just wish I had the courage to turn around and say what I needed to say.” “And what was that?” Aurora met his gaze. “That I was scared—scared of Evan, life, everything. And scared that I’d lose you too.” The admission felt like a mutinous exhale, yet there it was, out in the open. Alex sat quietly, absorbing. “I regret that too,” he said, fingers running across his brow, down to his stretched chin. “But maybe we both needed to find who we were on our own before we could find each other again.” In that moment, the weight of their shared history transformed, no longer a barricade but a bridge inviting back what had left and what could still be. Their conversation continued, moments of quiet communion mingling with the murmured chatter around them. Silently, they sealed the promise that whatever lay ahead would be faced together, nuanced with the resilience sowed through their past. Aurora poured the last amber remnants into their glasses, lifting hers with a sparkling glint in her eyes. “To not being the same people we were yesterday.” Alex raised his glass in return, resolve shaping a content pair of lips. “To becoming the people we’re meant to be.”