Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRKJRB4CHPTGPPDHKEG1DK

The Raven’s Nest hummed with the low murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses. Rory wiped her hands on her apron, the scent of fried garlic and soy sauce still clinging to her fingers. She leaned against the bar, scanning the room out of habit—old instincts die hard. The green neon sign outside cast a sickly glow through the windows, painting the faces of the patrons in shades of jade. Then she saw him. Evan stood near the jukebox, his back to her, fingers tapping against his thigh like he was counting seconds. The years had carved sharper angles into his face, the boyish softness she remembered replaced by something harder, leaner. His dark hair was shorter now, cropped close to his skull, and the leather jacket he wore looked expensive, the kind that didn’t crease when you moved. Her stomach twisted. She should’ve left. Slipped out the back, pretended she hadn’t seen him. But her feet stayed rooted to the floor, her pulse thrumming in her throat. Evan turned. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a second, neither of them moved. Then his mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Rory.” His voice was the same—low, smooth, the kind that used to make her stomach flutter. Now it just made her skin prickle. She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?” “Same as you, I imagine.” He gestured to the bar. “Drinking. Avoiding my life.” She exhaled through her nose. “You don’t drink.” “People change.” “Not that much.” He stepped closer, close enough that she caught the scent of him—cedar and something sharp, like gun oil. “You look good.” “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Don’t do that.” She turned away, busying herself with straightening a stack of coasters. “You don’t get to show up after four years and act like we’re catching up over coffee.” Evan leaned against the bar, his shoulder brushing hers. She didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “You’re still here,” he said. “Working for Silas.” “It’s a job.” “It’s beneath you.” She laughed, sharp and bitter. “Says the man who used to tell me I was wasting my potential.” “You were.” “And now?” He studied her, his gaze lingering on the crescent scar on her wrist. “Now I think you’re exactly where you want to be.” The words hit too close. She grabbed a rag and scrubbed at a nonexistent stain on the counter. “You don’t know what I want.” “No?” He reached out, his fingers hovering just above her wrist before dropping away. “You used to tell me everything.” “That was before.” “Before what?” She met his eyes. “Before you decided I was more trouble than I was worth.” Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. The jukebox switched to an old jazz record, the saxophone wailing like a ghost. Evan rubbed his jaw. “I deserved that.” “You think?” “I was an idiot.” “Past tense?” She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve changed that much?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he nodded toward the back of the bar. “Can we talk? Somewhere quieter.” She hesitated. The last time she’d followed him into a back room, it hadn’t ended well. But curiosity gnawed at her. “Fine. But I’m not staying long.” The hidden door behind the bookshelf creaked as Evan pushed it open. The secret room was exactly as she remembered—dim, windowless, the air thick with the scent of aged paper and whiskey. A single lamp cast long shadows across the walls. Rory leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “So. Talk.” Evan paced, his hands flexing at his sides. “I heard about what happened. With your parents.” She stiffened. “Who told you?” “Does it matter?” “Yes.” He stopped, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. “Silas mentioned it. In passing.” “Of course he did.” She pushed off the doorframe, her boots thudding against the wooden floor. “That man can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.” “He cares about you.” “He’s nosy.” Evan smirked. “That too.” She exhaled, rubbing her temples. “What do you want, Evan? Really?” He hesitated, then reached into his jacket. Rory tensed, but all he pulled out was a folded piece of paper. He held it out to her. She didn’t take it. “What’s that?” “A job offer.” She laughed. “You’re joking.” “It’s legitimate. High-paying. Safe.” “Safe?” She snatched the paper from his hand, unfolding it with sharp, jerky movements. The letterhead was sleek, embossed with a logo she didn’t recognize. “Since when do you care about safe?” “Since I realized how much I fucked up.” She looked up, her fingers tightening around the paper. “You don’t get to say that.” “Why not?” “Because it’s too late.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “It’s never too late.” She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. But the past four years had taught her otherwise. “You left, Evan. You walked away when things got hard. And now you waltz back in here like nothing happened?” “I made a mistake.” “A mistake?” She crumpled the paper in her fist. “You broke my wrist. You called me a liar. You told me I was imagining things. That’s not a mistake. That’s a pattern.” His jaw tightened. “I know.” “Do you?” “I do now.” She shook her head, turning away. “I don’t need your apologies. I don’t need your job offers. I don’t need you.” “Rory—” “No.” She whirled back around, her voice shaking. “You don’t get to come back here and act like you’re the one who’s been wronged. You don’t get to play the hero after everything you did.” Evan’s face darkened. “I never said I was a hero.” “Then what are you?” He was silent for a long moment. Then, quietly: “I’m trying to be better.” She wanted to scream. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to walk away and never look back. But she just stood there, her chest heaving, the crumpled paper digging into her palm. The lamp flickered, casting his face in shadow. “I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he said. “I’m asking for a chance.” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The weight of the past four years pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. She thought of all the nights she’d lain awake, wondering if she’d ever feel safe again. She thought of the way her parents had looked at her when she’d finally told them the truth—disappointment, pity, the quiet horror of realizing their daughter had been broken by someone they’d trusted. She thought of Silas, of the way he’d taken her in without question, given her a job, a place to stay, a purpose. She thought of the girl she’d been before Evan—bright-eyed, ambitious, unafraid. And then she thought of the woman she was now. She smoothed out the crumpled paper, her fingers trembling. “What’s the job?” Evan’s eyes flickered with something like hope. “Security consulting. For a private firm.” “Doing what?” “Bodyguard work. Risk assessment. The kind of thing you’re good at.” She scoffed. “I deliver takeout.” “You’re smarter than that.” “And you’re still a liar.” He flinched. “I deserve that.” She folded the paper again, tucking it into her pocket. “I’ll think about it.” “That’s all I’m asking.” She nodded toward the door. “You should go.” He hesitated, then turned to leave. At the threshold, he paused. “For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.” She didn’t answer. The door clicked shut behind him. Rory stood in the dim room, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The silence pressed in around her, thick and oppressive. She pressed her fingers to her temples, her mind racing. Then she pulled the crumpled paper from her pocket and smoothed it out one last time. The ink blurred under the lamplight.