Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX6GPC8HPKYEPNKBREWAZ3

The neon sign buzzed overhead, its green glow pooling on the wet pavement outside The Raven’s Nest. Inside, the hum of murmured conversations and clinking glasses settled into a low din. Aurora wiped down the bartop, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, the crescent scar on her wrist catching the dim light. The scar was old—almost forgotten—but she’d been thinking about it lately. Funny how the past turned up when you least expected. Silas shuffled behind her, stacking glasses with methodical precision. "You’ve got that look,” he said without glancing up. “What look?” “Like you’re waiting for something to happen.” She smirked, tossing the rag into the sink. “Always am.” The door creaked open, letting in a gust of damp London air. She glanced up—habit more than curiosity—and froze. Evan stood there, dripping rainwater onto the floorboards. Not Evan-the-ex. Not Evan-the-abusive-prick. Just… Evan. Older. Softer around the edges. He wore a navy peacoat, his dark hair slightly longer than she remembered, streaked with the first threads of grey. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, as if he wasn’t sure where to put them. Aurora’s throat tightened. Silas straightened, his eyes flicking between them. He said nothing. She was grateful for that. Evan cleared his throat. “Rory.” The name sounded foreign on his tongue. Nobody called her that anymore. Silas nudged a glass toward her. Subtle. A prompt. Aurora exhaled, forced her fingers to unclench. “Evan.” A beat passed. Neither moved. "You’re—working here?" He gestured vaguely at the bar. "Temporarily." Her tone was sharper than she intended. Evan nodded stiffly, rainwater dripping from his coat hem onto the floor. "Can I... sit?" She wanted to say no. To tell him to turn around and walk out. Instead, she jerked her chin toward the stool at the far end of the bar. Silas disappeared into the back room without a word, leaving them alone in the dim glow of the bar lights. Evan slid onto the stool, his fingers tapping against the polished wood. “You look good,” he said finally. Aurora poured him a whiskey—neat, because she remembered. She pushed it toward him with more一切的力气 than necessary. “You don’t.” He laughed, but it was hollow. “Fair.” They sat in silence while he drank. She watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the way his fingers flexed around the glass. Familiar, but not. "I heard you left Cardiff," he said eventually. "Yeah." "Why London?" She shrugged. "Why not?" Evan exhaled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I’m sorry," he said quietly. Aurora leaned against the counter, arms folded. "For which part?" His jaw tightened. "All of it." That wasn’t good enough. It would never be good enough. She wanted to ask what he was doing here—how he’d even found her. What right he had to walk back into her life like he deserved a place in it. But the words caught in her throat. Evan traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip. "You changed your hair." It was such a stupid, pointless observation that she almost laughed. "Yeah. Six years is a long time." He looked up then, his expression unreadable. "Too long." She didn’t answer. Outside, the rain picked up, tapping against the windows like impatient fingers. Silas reappeared, his limp more pronounced in the damp weather. He glanced between them, then nodded toward the back room. “Got a shipment coming in. Need a hand.” Aurora pushed off from the bar. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, loud enough that she barely heard Evan say her name as she walked away. Silas closed the door behind them. “Well,” he muttered. She pressed her palms against the cool metal of the storage shelves. “Don’t.” He didn’t.