Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRH0JKZAG3RKE1K21TBDFB

The green neon glow sliced across the wooden floorboards as Aurora grabbed the last sip of her jasmine tea. Silas had slipped back into the dim alcove behind the bar, polishing a row of tumblers with deliberate care. Rory let her gaze wander over the maps lining the walls—old London streets, faded county borders. They felt familiar, like a promise of routes she’d never travelled. The bell above the door jingled. She barely glanced up. Customers drifted in, a designer-clad couple in search of cocktails, a solitary man scrolling on his phone by the window. Then the door swung wider—letting in a taller woman whose shoulders stiffened the moment she caught sight of Aurora. Rory’s heart twisted. Lydia. Last time they’d spoken, Rory was still perched on the edge of graduation, her cap askew as she told Lydia about plans for law school in Cardiff. Now Lydia’s hair sat in a precise bob just below her jaw. A charcoal blazer hugged her ribs. Her eyes—once warm—narrowed slightly when they met Rory’s. A beat passed, thick as old syrup. Rory’s fingers curled around the teacup, fingertips brushing the crescent scar on her wrist. She rose, shifting to face Lydia. The bar lights flickered against her straight black hair, cut to shoulder length the night she fled Evan. Lydia’s breath hitched. “Rory?” She’d kept the old nickname. Suddenly Rory felt younger, smaller. But she straightened. “Lydia.” Lydia slid onto the stool beside her, close enough that Rory could smell the faint citrus of her cologne. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” Rory tapped the counter. “You don’t come out this way?” “Not since I was covering the Royal Courts. But my firm hosted an event down the street.” Lydia paused, brows lifting. “I wasn’t sure it was you at first.” Rory offered a small smile. “I look the same.” Lydia reached across, fingertips grazing Rory’s scar. “You’re not the same.” Rory pulled her hand back, wrapping her fingers around the cup. “Let’s say I’ve changed jobs.” She nodded toward Silas, who tucked the last glass into a shelf and slipped behind the bookshelf into his secret room. Lydia’s gaze followed, curiosity flickering. Then she turned back. “You’re working here?” “Visiting.” Rory tapped her scar again. “Delivery gig at the Golden Empress isn’t glamorous.” “Golden Empress?” Lydia echoed. “I thought you were headed for the Bar Council.” Rory let out a breath that tasted of peppermint and regret. “I skipped the exams.” Lydia’s lips thinned. “Why?” Rory traced a knot in the counter’s wood grain. “Life got complicated.” Lydia swallowed. “You always knew how to push through.” Rory’s throat constricted. She remembered nights in Cardiff late at the library, Lydia’s laughter echoing in the stacks. She’d chased that light then. Now it felt dim. “Things happened.” Lydia’s fingers tightened around her glass. Ice clinked. “You left town without a word.” “I had to leave.” Rory kept her voice steady. “I had…” She stopped, memories of bruised arms and slammed doors flickering behind closed lids. Aurora—Laila, Rory, Malphora—the names she used to outrun that chapter. All felt tangled now. Lydia stared, chest rising and falling in careful rhythm. “I tried calling.” Rory’s pulse thudded. “Numbers changed.” Lydia closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they shone with old warmth and new sadness. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help.” Rory’s hands curled into fists. “You couldn’t fix it.” Lydia shook her head. “I could’ve listened.” Music drifted over—the low hum of the bar’s speakers, jazz weaving into the hush. Rory lifted the teacup and drank. The steam curled around her face. Lydia swiped at a tear. “You look—” “Not like a lawyer?” Rory offered a brittle laugh. “No suits. No judgments. Just nights like this, hiding above a bar.” Lydia’s shoulders sagged. “I envied you once. Your spontaneity. Your courage.” Rory blinked. “I envied your certainty.” Lydia’s hand trembled as she patted Rory’s wrist. Rory pulled away, voice soft. “Look what certainty got you—a corner office, the same commute every morning. And here you are, wearing creases in your blazer like armor.” Lydia ran a hand through her hair. “I wanted stability.” Rory’s gaze softened. “And I ran toward chaos.” Silas’s door opened behind them. He leaned in the frame, head cocked, signet ring glinting in the low light. He offered a slow nod. Rory returned it. Lydia’s shoulders stiffened as if she half-expected him to break them up. He slipped back inside, footsteps fading. Lydia swallowed. “We both chose survival.” Rory stared at her scar, the crescent moon of it catching the neon shine. “Do you ever wonder what’d happen if we stuck together? I could’ve used you.” Lydia shook her head. “I was young, Rory. I thought success meant climbing higher.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know how to climb out of a bad situation.” Rory ran her thumb along the scar’s curve. “I didn’t know how to ask.” A pause stretched. Then Lydia’s phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen—an email notification. She closed her eyes, swallowed again. She picked it up and set it face down. “This was… unexpected,” Lydia said. “Yeah,” Rory said, letting the word hang. Blinking, Lydia tapped her glass. “Can we start over?” Rory felt a tightness loosen in her chest. She offered a crooked smile. “I’d like that.” Lydia returned it, a small, fragile thing. She reached out, fingers brushing Rory’s scar—this time without hesitation. Rory let her. They held the pause between them, two old friends suspended in a bar that held so many secrets. Beyond the counter, the maps on the walls seemed to breathe, outlining paths they might take. Time and regret lay heavy in each breath, but in that moment, something light flickered between them—a possibility, unspoken but clear. A new drink arrived: a soft lime fizz from the bartender’s hand. Rory took it, offering half to Lydia. She met Rory’s eyes and smiled. Rory let go of the scar and lifted her glass. “To finding our way back,” she said. Lydia clinked her glass to Rory’s. “To second chances.” They drank. The maps on the walls watched. The green neon sign outside hummed. In the hush between their words, the weight of years lifted just enough for them to begin again.