Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXCGX8PJ1XBBGBVESF86MW

The Raven's Nest smelled of aged whiskey and polished wood. Aurora wiped down the counter with slow, methodical strokes, the green neon glow from the sign outside casting long shadows across the bottles lining the back wall. Silas limped past, adjusting the silver signet ring on his right hand as he inspected the evening's receipts. The door creaked open. A gust of cold air rushed in, carrying with it the scent of rain and something faintly familiar—vanilla and bergamot. Aurora glanced up, her rag stilling mid-swipe. The woman at the door hesitated, her fingers gripping the strap of her leather satchel. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but the sharpness of her cheekbones hadn't changed. Neither had the way she tucked her hair behind her left ear when nervous. "Eva?" Aurora's voice cracked. Eva's lips parted, then pressed together. She took a step forward, then another, until she stood at the bar, close enough for Aurora to see the fine lines at the corners of her eyes that hadn't been there three years ago. "You're working here?" Eva's gaze flicked to Silas, then back. "Part-time." Aurora tossed the rag under the counter. "Delivery by day, bartending by night." Eva exhaled, the sound almost a laugh. "Still piecing things together." "Something like that." Silas cleared his throat. "I'll be in the back." He disappeared behind the false bookshelf without another word. Eva slid onto a stool. Her coat sleeve rode up as she rested her elbows on the bar, revealing a thin silver bracelet Aurora didn’t recognize. "You look good," Eva said. Aurora snorted. "Liar." "Okay, you look tired." "Better." Aurora reached for a glass. "Drink?" "Whatever you're having." She poured two fingers of bourbon, pushed it across the bar. Eva took it without hesitation, downed half in one go. "Since when do you drink whiskey?" Aurora asked. "Since Prague." Aurora's fingers tightened around her own glass. Prague was Silas’ old wound. Eva had never been. "You went?" Eva swirled the remaining liquor. "After you left." The ice in Aurora’s drink clinked as she set it down too hard. "You tracked me to London just to tell me that?" "No. I came because—" Eva stopped, shook her head. "I don’t know why I came." The silence stretched. The hum of the neon sign filled the space between them. Aurora traced the crescent scar on her wrist. "You could’ve called." "You changed your number." "You know where I live." Eva’s fingers tightened around her glass. "Would you have answered?" Aurora didn’t reply. Eva exhaled, long and slow. "I heard about Evan. What he did." A muscle in Aurora’s jaw twitched. "Ancient history." "Is it?" Eva’s gaze dropped to the scar again. Aurora pulled her sleeve down. "You didn’t come here to talk about him." "No." Eva finished her drink. "I came because I needed to see you. Before I—" She cut herself off. "Before what?" Eva reached into her satchel, pulled out a plane ticket. One-way. Berlin. Aurora stared at it. "You’re leaving." "Tomorrow." "Just like that?" "Just like that." The weight of those words settled between them. Aurora picked up Eva’s empty glass, refilled it without asking. "You could come with me," Eva said softly. Aurora laughed, sharp and hollow. "Right." "I mean it." "You don’t even know why you’re going." Eva’s fingers brushed against hers as she took the glass. "Neither do you." Aurora pulled her hand back. "I have a life here." "Do you?" The question hung in the air, heavy as the silence that followed. Eva stood abruptly, dropping a handful of bills on the bar. "I should go." Aurora didn’t move. "Yeah." Eva hesitated, then turned toward the door. The neon light caught the silver in her bracelet again as she reached for the handle. Aurora’s throat tightened. "Eva." She stopped. Aurora swallowed. "Be careful." Eva looked back, her smile small and sad. "You too, Rory." The door swung shut behind her. The green glow of the sign flickered once, then steadied. Silas emerged from the back, his limp more pronounced than usual. He didn’t speak, just took the empty glass Eva had left behind and polished it with a clean cloth. Aurora stared at the bills on the counter. Exactly enough for two drinks. No tip. She pocketed the money and reached for the next dirty glass. The night stretched ahead, long and quiet.