Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXW1YH6RMCSD87GWDJ0WHP

The green neon sign buzzed softly, casting its faint glow over the damp pavement. Rory pushed open the heavy oak door of The Raven’s Nest, the familiar scent of whiskey and polished wood enveloping her. The bar was quiet tonight, just a few regulars scattered across the worn leather booths. Silas stood behind the counter, polishing glasses with a cloth that had seen better days. He glanced up, nodded, and returned to his task without a word. She slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar, away from the others. The dim light caught the edge of her crescent-shaped scar as she traced a finger along the rim of her glass. Silas poured her a whiskey without asking. She raised it to her lips, the burn grounding her. The door creaked open again, and a gust of cool air swept in. Rory didn’t bother to look up until she heard the footsteps pause near her. Her chest tightened. “Rory?” That voice. She hadn’t heard it in years, but it cut through her defenses like a blade. She turned, her blue eyes narrowing. “Evan.” He looked different. The boyish charm she remembered had hardened into something sharper. His blond hair, once unruly, was neatly combed, and his leather jacket hung loose over a tailored shirt. But his eyes—those icy blue eyes—still bore the same intensity. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mind if I sit?” She hesitated, then gestured to the stool beside her. Silas slid him a whiskey without a word, his hazel eyes flickering between them. “You’re looking… different,” Evan said, his tone casual, but his gaze lingered on her scarred wrist. “Funny, I was thinking the same about you.” She took another sip of whiskey, her voice steady. He chuckled, low and rough. “Eight years will do that to a person.” “Eight years,” she repeated, rolling the words around in her mouth like they were foreign. “Feels like yesterday.” “And yet, it doesn’t.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar. “What brings you to London?” “Work,” she said simply, avoiding his gaze. “Work?” His eyebrow arched. “Last I heard, you were in Cardiff, studying law.” “Last I heard, you were in Manchester,” she countered, her tone sharper than she intended. He winced, just slightly, but enough for her to notice. “Touché.” Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Rory traced the grain of the bar with her fingertip, her mind racing. There was so much to say, so much to ask, but the words lodged in her throat. “Why are you here, Evan?” she finally asked, her voice quiet but firm. He hesitated, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “I’m in town for a job. Thought I’d stop by for old time’s sake.” “Old time’s sake,” she echoed, bitterness creeping into her tone. “You have a funny way of showing it.” His jaw tightened. “I know I screwed up, Rory. I don’t expect you to forgive me.” “Good. Because I won’t.” He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Fair enough.” She glanced at him, her gaze lingering on the faint lines etched into his face. Time had been kinder to him than she’d hoped. “You look… good,” she admitted reluctantly. He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You too.” “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Don’t act like we’re just catching up. Like we’re old friends.” He leaned back, his shoulders stiffening. “Then what are we, Rory?” She opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. What were they? Strangers bound by memories they couldn’t escape? Enemies who still carried the scars of their past? She didn’t know. “Why did you leave?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He stared into his glass, his grip tightening. “I didn’t have a choice.” “Everyone has a choice, Evan.” “Not me,” he said, his voice rough. “Not back then.” She studied him, searching for the truth in his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?” He shook his head. “Some things are better left in the past.” “Bullshit.” “Rory—” “No.” She slammed her glass down, the sound echoing through the bar. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to waltz back into my life after all these years and act like nothing happened. Like you didn’t—” Her voice broke, and she looked away, her chest heaving. Evan reached out, his hand brushing hers, but she pulled back as if burned. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “For everything.” She shook her head, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Sorry doesn’t fix it.” “I know.” He leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists. “But it’s all I’ve got.” She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. The man sitting beside her was a stranger, yet achingly familiar. The boy she’d loved was gone, replaced by someone she barely recognized. And still, she couldn’t shake the ache in her chest. “Why now?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why come back now?” He hesitated, his eyes darkening. “Because I’m tired of running.” She laughed, short and bitter. “You’re not the only one.” He reached for her again, but she stood abruptly, her stool scraping against the floor. “I should go.” “Rory—” “Don’t.” She grabbed her jacket, her hands trembling. “Just don’t.” She turned and strode toward the door, her heart pounding in her chest. “Wait.” His voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. She paused, her hand on the door handle, but she didn’t turn around. “I’ll be in town for a while,” he said, his voice softer now. “If you ever want to talk…” She nodded, her throat tight, and pushed the door open. The cool night air hit her like a slap, and she inhaled deeply, trying to steady her breathing. Behind her, the green neon sign buzzed softly, casting its faint glow over the damp pavement.