Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRMPGDYH7FJG0R9X960T6N

Aurora pushed open the door to The Raven's Nest, grateful for the familiar warmth that greeted her. February winds had cut through her jacket, and her fingers had gone numb on the short walk from Golden Empress. The delivery run had been her last of the day, and she'd promised herself a drink before heading upstairs to her flat. The bar hummed with Tuesday night regulars—not packed, but comfortable. A trio of businessmen nursed whiskies in the corner booth, two women shared wine at a high-top near the window, and a few solo drinkers were scattered along the bar. Jazz played softly through the speakers, a Miles Davis piece that Silas favored. "Evening, Rory." Silas looked up from polishing a glass. The light caught his signet ring as he worked. "Rough day?" "Just cold." She hoisted herself onto her usual stool at the far end of the bar. "Something warm would be nice." Silas nodded and reached for a bottle of Irish whiskey—her father's influence on her palate. He added a cinnamon stick and a splash of hot water, sliding it across to her. "On the house. You look like you could use it." Aurora wrapped her fingers around the glass, letting the heat seep into her skin. "Thanks, Si. Not going to argue with that." She'd just taken her first sip when the door opened again, letting in another blast of cold air. She didn't look up immediately, but something about the newcomer's hesitation made her turn. The man who stood just inside the doorway was scanning the room with the careful assessment of someone in unfamiliar territory. His attention caught on her, and Aurora felt the recognition hit her like a physical blow. "Marcus?" The name fell from her lips before she could think better of it. He looked different—of course he did, it had been seven years. The university boy was gone, replaced by a man with a tailored overcoat and hair cropped close to his head where it had once fallen in his eyes. But the way he tilted his head at the sound of his name was achingly familiar. "Rory Carter?" His surprise mirrored her own. "Christ, what are the odds?" Marcus crossed to her, movements more deliberate than she remembered. The loose-limbed energy of youth had been replaced by something more contained. "I heard you were in London, but..." He gestured vaguely. "It's been a long time." "Seven years, give or take." Aurora motioned to the stool beside her. "Join me?" He slipped off his coat—cashmere, she noted—and settled beside her with a nod to Silas. "Scotch, neat. Whatever's good." Silas raised an eyebrow at Aurora, the silent question clear: Friend or trouble? She gave a small nod, and he relaxed marginally as he poured Marcus's drink. "So." Marcus turned to her once Silas moved away. "You're not what I expected to find in a Soho bar on a Tuesday night." "I live upstairs, actually." She gestured toward the ceiling. "What about you? Last I heard you were at a firm in Edinburgh." "I was." He took a sip of his scotch. "Made partner last year. I'm in London for meetings—potential expansion." There was a practiced smoothness to his words that hadn't been there when they were twenty. Back then, Marcus had stumbled over explanations, gone red-faced during presentations. This polished version felt like a stranger wearing her friend's face. "Congratulations." She meant it, despite the odd hollowness in her chest. "That's what you always wanted, isn't it?" Something flickered across his face—too quick to read. "It is. And you? Did you finish the law degree?" The question landed like a stone. Aurora looked down at her whiskey. "No. Turns out I wasn't cut out for following my father's footsteps after all." "But you were brilliant." The words burst from him, unpolished in a way that suddenly made him recognizable again. "Top of our class before I transferred. Everyone knew you'd be the success story." She laughed, a short sound without humor. "Everyone was wrong. I dropped out in third year." "Why?" The simple question held genuine confusion. "What happened?" Aurora hesitated, weighing how much to tell him. The Evan story? The panic attacks during exams? The crushing realization that she was living someone else's dream? "Life happened." She settled on the simplest version. "I deliver Chinese food now. And help Silas here with the books sometimes." Marcus looked around the bar with new eyes, taking in the worn leather booths, the slightly scuffed floor, the maps on the walls. "Are you happy?" The directness caught her off guard. The Marcus she'd known would have made awkward small talk, offered platitudes. "Sometimes." The honesty surprised her. "Are you?" He turned his glass in his hands. "Sometimes." Silence stretched between them, filled with the weight of divergent paths and abandoned possibilities. "I looked for you," he said finally. "After you disappeared. No one knew where you'd gone." "I needed a fresh start." Aurora traced the crescent scar on her wrist, a nervous habit. "After everything with Evan, and then failing my exams... I just couldn't face everyone." "Evan." Marcus's voice hardened. "I heard what he did. I should have—" "Don't." She cut him off gently. "It wasn't your responsibility." "But I knew something was wrong. I just didn't know how to ask." His perfectly manicured nails dug into his palm. "I was a coward." Silas limped by, refilling their glasses without comment. The hazel eyes that had seen too much during his intelligence days flickered between them, assessing. "You're not the only one with regrets." Aurora sipped her whiskey, letting it burn away the tightness in her throat. "I've spent seven years running from mine." "What would you have done differently?" Marcus asked. "If you could go back?" Aurora considered the question. The past stretched behind her like a labyrinth of wrong turns and missed chances. "I would have been brave enough to admit I was drowning before I went under." She met his eyes directly. "What about you?" Marcus looked away, out toward the rain-spattered windows of the bar. "I would have told you the truth." "Which truth?" "That I was in love with you." He said it simply, like stating the weather. "That watching you with Evan was killing me. That I transferred to Edinburgh because I couldn't bear it anymore." The words hung between them. Aurora's fingers tightened around her glass. "I never knew." Her voice was barely audible over the jazz. "That was the point." Marcus's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I was terrified of losing you completely. And then I lost you anyway." Aurora looked at him—really looked. Beneath the expensive haircut and confident posture, she caught glimpses of the boy she'd known. The one who'd helped her study for constitutional law until 3 AM. Who'd brought her soup when she had the flu. Who'd walked her home after parties without complaint. "We were just kids," she said gently. "Were we? Sometimes I think we were more honest then than I've been since." He drained his glass. "I built this life that looks perfect on paper. Made partner by thirty-two. Flat in Edinburgh's New Town. Holidays in the Mediterranean. And most days I feel like I'm just going through the motions." "At least you finished what you started." Aurora didn't mean for the words to sound bitter, but they did. "Did I? Or did I just follow the path of least resistance?" Marcus laughed hollowly. "God, look at us. What a mess we've made." "Not a mess." Aurora shook her head. "Just... different choices than we planned." Silas appeared at the end of the bar, checking a pocket watch—his signal that it was nearing closing time. "I should go." Marcus reached for his coat. "Early meeting tomorrow." Aurora nodded, suddenly reluctant to see him leave. "It was good to see you, Marcus." He stood, hesitating. "Maybe we could... I don't know, get coffee while I'm in town? Catch up properly?" The question hung between them—an offering, not a demand. A possible bridge across the years that had separated them. "I'd like that." She pulled out her phone. "Same number?" "Same number." He smiled, and for a moment, she saw the boy she'd known in the man before her. "Some things don't change, I guess." They exchanged contacts in silence, the small task filling the space where words failed. "Goodnight, Rory." "Goodnight, Marcus." He walked toward the door, his reflection fragmenting in the rain-streaked windows. Just before leaving, he turned back. "For what it's worth, I think you would have made a terrible lawyer." Aurora laughed, startled by the unexpected truth. "I think you're right." The door closed behind him. Silas approached, leaning his weight on the bar to take pressure off his bad knee. "Old friend?" he asked, the casual question carrying layers of concern. Aurora looked down at the new contact in her phone, a small link to the past she'd tried to outrun. "Yes." She slid her empty glass toward him. "An old friend."