Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX1T9SPT4HYTGTETMVYYK8

The air in the Raven's Nest tasted of beeswax and the phantom sharpness of cigarette smoke, a scent that stubbornly clung to the velvet banquettes despite the ban years ago. Rory rested her elbows on the scarred mahogany, the cold surface seeping through the denim of her jacket. Down here, below the street level of Soho, the frantic noise of the city dulled to a rhythmic, almost soothing thrum. Silas stood opposite her, his movements precise and measured, belying the slight limp in his left leg. He placed a coaster down with a soft thud, the silver signet ring on his right hand catching the low light. He poured a measure of amber liquid, his hazel eyes flicking over her shoulder to the door before settling back on her face. "You're counting change in your sleep again." "Just tallying the day's damage." Silas slid the glass across the wood. It stopped perfectly within the circle of the coaster. "Yu-Fei working you hard?" "She pays better than the solicitors in Cardiff ever did." Rory took a sip, the burn welcome. The heavy oak door at the top of the stairs swung open. A wedge of yellow light sliced through the gloom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale air. A silhouette paused in the doorway, framed by the distinctive green neon glow of the sign outside, then descended the steps with the confident click of heels on wood. Rory didn't need to see the face to know. The set of the shoulders, the sharp angle of the chin as the woman scanned the room—it was the same way she used to look across a crowded lecture hall, daring the world to be interesting. Rory’s fingers tightened around her glass. The small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist began to throb, a phantom heartbeat beneath the skin. The woman moved to the bar, bypassing the empty tables. She didn't look at Rory. She slid a leather clutch onto the counter, the material expensive and pristine, utterly at odds with the battered journals and coasters littering the surface. "Gin. Tonic. No fruit." Silas nodded, reaching for the Tanqueray without a word. Rory turned slowly on her stool. The years hadn’t just added lines; they had chiselled Eva into someone else. The girl who wore oversized band t-shirts and Rory’s stolen blazers was gone. In her place sat a woman in a tailored charcoal dress, her blonde hair cut into a sharp bob that defied gravity, her makeup applied with a lethal precision. "Eva." The woman stiffened. She didn't turn her head immediately. She watched Silas pour the tonic, the fizz of the soda loud in the quiet bar. Then she pivoted on the stool, her eyes locking onto Rory’s. The shock was there, a quick flinch of the eyelids, but it vanished behind a wall of professional composure before Rory could blink. "Rory." Her voice was smoother, clipped. "My god. They said London was a village, but this is ridiculous." "I could say the same. Last I heard, you were clerking for a High Court judge." "I was. Three years ago." Eva picked up her glass, her manicured nails glinting. "Now I'm at a firm in the City. Mergers and acquisitions. Boring money." "Sounds lucrative." "It pays for the shoes." Eva gestured vaguely at Rory’s attire. "You look... comfortable." "I look like a delivery driver." Rory straightened her spine, refusing to shrink. "It’s honest work." "I didn't mean it as a criticism." Eva took a long drink, her eyes never leaving Rory’s face. "I just expected... I don't know. Maybe you'd have finished the degree by now. You always had the head for it." "Things changed." "Didn't they just." Silas moved down the bar to fetch a fresh bottle of scotch, giving them the illusion of privacy. His presence was a grounding weight, a silent reminder of the life Rory had built here. "How long has it been?" Rory asked, though she knew the answer exactly. "Since the night you got on the train? Four years, three months." "You kept count." "Hard not to, when you left without saying goodbye." "I sent a text." "A text." Eva let out a short, humorless laugh. " 'I'm gone. Don't follow.' Charming." "I had to go, Eva. You know why. You were the one who handed me the ticket." "And you were the one who ran." Eva set her glass down hard. The liquid sloshed, threatening the pristine rim. "I did what I could. I got you out. But you didn't just leave him. You left us. You left me." The weight of the words sat heavy on the scarred wood between them. Rory looked at the scar on her wrist. She remembered the night it happened, a shattered glass during a party Eva had thrown to cheer her up, and she remembered the night she left, packing a bag while Evan screamed downstairs. "Was I supposed to stay?" Rory kept her voice low. "Play the dutiful girlfriend while he decided which wall to put my head through?" "No. But you could have called. Once you were safe. You just vanished." "I wasn't safe for a long time." Rory looked up. "I'm only just starting to feel like I am." Eva’s expression softened, the hard edges of her corporate armor cracking for a fraction of a second. She looked tired. The heavy concealer under her eyes couldn't hide the shadows. "I looked for you," Eva said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I checked the hostels, the cheap hotels. I even called your mother." "That must have been fun." "She cried. She said you were ungrateful." "She would." Rory signaled to Silas for a refill. He placed the bottle down within reach and retreated to the shadows of the back shelf. "You're happy here?" Eva asked, gesturing to the dimly lit room, the peeling wallpaper, the maps of places that didn't exist anymore. "I am. It’s quiet. People mind their own business." "Silas seems... protective." "He knows when to keep his mouth shut." "Unlike me." "Unlike you." Silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable. It wasn't the silence of old friends who had nothing left to say; it was the silence of strangers who used to be family, vibrating with all the things that couldn't be unsaid. Eva smoothed the fabric of her dress, a nervous habit Rory remembered. "He's in London, you know." Rory’s hand stilled on the neck of the bottle. "Evan?" "He moved up six months ago. Working in finance now. Cleaned up his act, or so he says." Eva watched Rory closely. "I saw him at a gallery opening last week. He asked about you." The air in the room grew thin. Rory felt the old panic, a cold hand gripping her spine, but it passed quickly. She wasn't that girl anymore. She wasn't the scared law student with a black eye and a bruised wrist. "And what did you tell him?" "Nothing." Eva held her gaze. "I told him I hadn't seen you since graduation." "Thank you." "I didn't do it for you. I did it because I didn't want to give him the satisfaction." Rory poured the scotch. The liquid was dark, swirling in the glass. "You've changed, Eva. You're harder." "It comes with the territory." Eva finished her drink, the ice clinking softly. "You have to be when you're the only woman in a boardroom full of sharks. It’s different than the playground wars, Rory." "I know. I fight different battles now too." "Delivering Chinese food?" "Surviving." Eva looked at her for a long moment. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a silver business card, sliding it across the wood. It stopped just short of Rory’s glass. "If you ever get tired of surviving... call me. We have a pro-bono division. Legal aid. You always had a mind for the law. It’s a waste to let it rot." "I don't do law anymore." "Doing what you're doing is a waste too." Eva stood up, smoothing her skirt. The movement was fluid, practiced. She was already leaving, already back in her world of high-rises and billable hours. "Rory." Rory looked up. "For what it's worth... you look better than you did back then. You look alive." "I feel it." Eva nodded once, a sharp, decisive motion. She turned and walked up the stairs, her heels echoing on the wood. The door opened, the neon light flooded in for a brief second, and then she was gone, swallowed by the London night. The silence rushed back in, settling into the corners of the bar. Silas moved from the shadows, picking up the empty gin glass. "She seems pleasant," he said, the irony heavy in his tone. "She's a survivor." Rory stared at the business card on the counter. The raised lettering caught the light. "Just like us." "Are you going to call?" Rory picked up the card between her thumb and forefinger. She held it over the ashtray. "No." She let go. The card fluttered down, landing on the discarded lime wedges and ashes. Silas swept it away without a word. "Another?" he asked. "Please." Rory downed the rest of her drink, the heat spreading through her chest, chasing away the lingering chill of the past. "Make it a double."