AI The green neon above the door buzzed like a trapped insect, painting the pavement outside The Raven’s Nest an unhealthy shade. Inside, the air held old smoke that never left and the sweeter bite of citrus peel from someone’s drink. Rory wiped her hands on her jeans and pushed through the crowd, shoulder brushing a man in a suit who smelled of rain and aftershave.
A row of black-and-white photos watched from the wall: men in hats near trains, women with lipstick and hard smiles, a river that looked like the Thames before the banks got polished. Maps layered the plaster in patches, their edges curled like dried leaves. Someone had pinned a red thread between two points and never bothered to take it down.
Behind the bar, Silas leaned on his good leg and worked the taps with the patience of a man who had learned to wait people out. His hazel eyes flicked to Rory’s hands, to the faint red line across her knuckles from carrying crates all afternoon.
“You’re late.”
Rory hooked a thumb towards the door.
“Golden Empress ran me ragged. Yu-Fei decided the city needed dumplings like it needed oxygen.”
Silas dragged a glass across the counter, his silver signet ring catching the bar light and throwing a small flash against the bottles.
“Sit before you fall over.”
Rory sat. The wood felt tacky, worn down by elbows and secrets. She glanced at the shelf behind him, the one that didn’t quite line up with the rest . The hidden room waited beyond, the back of the bookcase promising a quiet space that never stayed quiet for long.
“I’m not falling over,” Rory muttered.
Silas set a drink in front of her without asking. Ginger beer, cold enough to sting. He watched her take the first swallow like it mattered.
A laugh rose from a table near the darts board. A woman in a red dress leaned back too far on her chair. Someone caught her before she tipped. A couple argued by the toilets in low voices, their heads angled close like lovers. The Nest held everyone the same way: with dim light and a ceiling that pressed down on ambition.
The door opened again. Cold air pushed in and made the nearest candle gutter.
Rory lifted her eyes out of habit, the way you checked the street before crossing.
The figure in the doorway didn’t belong to the usual Friday spill of Soho. No stumble, no searching squint. The woman moved with a straight spine and a tight jaw, coat dark and fitted, hair cut blunt at her chin. She scanned the room once, quick and sharp, like she could draw a map of the place and burn it after.
Then her gaze caught Rory’s.
The room shrank. The chatter dulled as if someone had thrown a blanket over it. Rory’s throat tightened around the ginger.
The woman took one step forward, stopped, and her face shifted—something soft and startled pushing through the polish.
Rory’s fingers went numb against the glass.
Eva looked like she’d been poured into a new life and set to harden. The freckles Rory remembered had faded under foundation. The mouth stayed the same, though. The same slight downturn at one corner as if she held back a comment. Her eyes held a green that Rory hadn’t thought about in years, not properly, not without a sting following.
Eva crossed the floor. Every step landed clean, heel to toe, no wobble. She threaded past a couple of men without touching them. Rory watched her hands. No chipped nail polish. No ink-smudged fingertips. A thin gold ring flashed at her right hand.
Eva stopped at the bar, close enough that Rory caught a scent of expensive soap and rain.
Her voice came out lower than Rory remembered.
“Rory.”
Rory forced her lungs to work.
“Eva.”
Eva’s gaze dropped to Rory’s hoodie, to the faded Golden Empress logo. Back up to Rory’s face, lingering on her mouth like she tried to line it up with an old picture.
“You look…” Eva’s lips pressed together. “You’re here.”
Rory gave a short laugh that didn’t carry any humour.
“I’m not a ghost.”
Eva’s eyes flicked to Rory’s left wrist as Rory shifted her glass. The crescent scar flashed pale under the bar light. Eva’s throat bobbed.
Silas looked between them, then set a clean glass down and moved away without asking questions, his limp more pronounced as he gave them space.
Eva took the empty stool beside Rory. She sat without sinking into it, posture sharp, knees together. A small crease ran down her trousers like it had been ironed by someone paid to care.
Rory swallowed again. The ginger burned.
“How did you end up in Soho?” Rory asked. “You hate London.”
Eva’s mouth pulled tight.
“I had a meeting. I walked past and saw the sign.”
“The sign’s hard to miss,” Rory replied, nodding at the green neon glow leaking through the window.
Eva’s gaze turned inward, as if she stared down a corridor only she could see.
“Yeah.”
Silence crowded between them. It felt heavy, like wet wool.
Rory kept her eyes on the bar top. A knife mark ran through the varnish. Someone had stabbed down hard here once, angry or drunk. The scratch looked old.
Eva reached into her coat and pulled out a phone, set it face down like a truce. The case looked new, unscuffed. Her hands didn’t shake.
“You live above this place,” Eva said, not a question.
Rory’s head snapped towards her.
“How—”
Eva held Rory’s gaze.
“I asked around.”
Rory’s laugh came out sharper.
“You asked around. In London. About me.”
Eva’s fingers tightened on the edge of the bar.
“I didn’t have your number.”
Rory stared at her.
“You had my mum’s. You had my dad’s. You knew where I grew up.”
Eva’s jaw worked. For a moment the polish cracked and the old Eva peered through—sixteen years old, chewing her pen, furious at the world for no clear reason.
“I called,” Eva said.
Rory’s chest went tight.
“When.”
Eva’s voice stayed even, but her shoulders rose a fraction, bracing for impact.
“After you left. A week after. Your dad told me you weren’t there. Your mum sounded like she’d swallowed a stone. They didn’t know where you’d gone.”
Rory’s fingers curled around her glass.
“I didn’t want them to know.”
Eva’s eyes sharpened.
“Because of him.”
Rory stared at the maps on the wall, at the little red thread pinned between cities. Cardiff to London, a line that could have been hers if someone had bothered to draw it.
“Don’t,” Rory muttered.
Eva’s voice flattened.
“I watched you shrink. I watched you apologise for taking up space. And then you vanished.”
Rory’s mouth dried.
“I left.”
Eva leaned closer. The expensive soap smell mixed with the bar’s stale beer.
“You left without a word.”
Rory’s gaze flicked to Eva’s ring again. Gold. Simple. Not Eva’s old taste, all silver chains and thrift-shop junk.
Rory tapped the rim of her glass with her nail.
“You got married.”
Eva’s hand covered the ring like it reacted to heat.
“No.”
Rory blinked.
Eva lifted her hand again, forced it open on the bar.
“My mum’s,” Eva said. “She—” Her throat caught . She swallowed it down. “She gave it to me before she died. I wore it because… it kept people from asking questions. Men in bars. Colleagues. Everyone thinks they’re owed a reason for your face.”
Rory’s stomach dipped.
“I didn’t know.”
Eva’s eyes stayed on Rory now, like she had decided not to look away again.
“You wouldn’t. You weren’t there.”
Rory’s cheeks heated. She kept her voice steady.
“You could’ve come.”
Eva’s smile showed no teeth.
“To London? To rescue you?”
Rory flinched.
“I didn’t ask to be rescued.”
Eva’s fingers drummed the bar once, a sharp tap.
“No. You just let me do all the talking for you. Like always.”
Rory turned, bright blue eyes catching the low light. She felt the old pattern tug at her—the way Eva filled silence , the way Rory let her, grateful and annoyed at the same time.
“I didn’t let you do anything,” Rory shot back. “You chose to.”
Eva’s gaze slid over Rory’s face again, slower now, as if she searched for pieces that still fit.
“You cut your hair.”
Rory’s hand went to the straight black ends, shoulder-length now, blunt from a cheap salon. She felt suddenly ridiculous, like she’d dressed wrong for a reunion she hadn’t agreed to.
“Yeah,” Rory replied. “I stopped letting people pull it.”
Eva’s eyes flickered , understanding landing like a bruise.
Rory kept going, the words coming out before she could stop them.
“He used to get his fingers in it when he was angry. Like a handle.”
Eva’s mouth opened, closed. Her nostrils flared. She sat so still she looked carved.
“I should’ve—”
Rory slammed her glass down hard enough to make the ice jump.
“Don’t.”
Heads turned nearby. Someone at the darts paused mid-throw. Silas’s gaze lifted from the far end of the bar, settled on them, then dropped away again.
Eva’s voice dropped.
“I should’ve come to your house. I should’ve put my foot through his door.”
Rory’s laugh came out raw.
“And done what? Shouted at him? He loved an audience.”
Eva’s hands clenched, then opened. She reached for Rory’s wrist without touching it, hovering just above the crescent scar as if she still remembered Rory’s skin under her palms.
“I used to know how to get you to look at me,” Eva whispered. “Now you look straight through.”
Rory jerked her arm back and wrapped her hand around her glass again. The cold bit her palm.
“You look different,” Rory said, and hated how small it sounded.
Eva’s eyes narrowed .
“Different how.”
Rory gestured at the coat, the pressed trousers, the neatness of her.
“You look like you’ve got a job with a lanyard. Like you don’t spill anything. Like you don’t laugh at the wrong time.”
Eva’s lips twitched.
“I do spill things.”
Rory lifted a brow.
“When.”
Eva stared at the bar as if it had answers etched into it.
“In private,” Eva replied. “Where it doesn’t cost me.”
Rory took that in. The old Eva would have mocked that sentence , would have called it tragic and then stolen Rory’s chips to make her smile.
Silas appeared by Eva’s shoulder and set a drink down in front of her. Whisky, amber, no ice.
Eva looked up, startled.
Silas’s signet ring flashed again as he pulled his hand away.
“On the house,” his voice carried the weight of a decision. He didn’t ask who she was. He didn’t smile. He walked off, limp steady, as if he had placed a chess piece and left the board.
Eva stared at the whisky, then at Rory.
“Your new friend.”
Rory’s mouth pulled into something that almost counted as a smile.
“My landlord.”
Eva’s gaze roamed the bar: the maps, the photos, the corners where people hid from themselves. She returned to Rory with a sharp look.
“You work deliveries.”
Rory leaned back, chin lifting.
“Yeah.”
Eva’s eyes flicked down Rory’s hands again, the red marks, the small cuts.
“You were top of our year in debate.”
Rory’s shoulders tightened.
“And you were meant to be a painter.”
Eva’s mouth twisted, a brief flicker of something like amusement .
“I paint walls in council flats when I need to remember I’ve got hands.”
Rory stared at her.
“You what.”
Eva took the whisky and drank without flinching. When she set the glass down, her fingertips left no prints.
“I work in compliance,” Eva replied. The words landed like a dead fish on a plate. “Financial. Lots of men who smile while they lie. I tell them to fix it. They pretend. I write reports. They get promoted anyway.”
Rory watched Eva’s face as she spoke. She didn’t look proud. She didn’t look ashamed. She looked tired in a way the old Eva never allowed.
Rory’s voice softened without permission.
“That’s not you.”
Eva’s gaze snapped back.
“You don’t know what I am.”
Rory held her stare, felt heat rise under her collar.
“I know you used to steal road signs when you got bored.”
Eva’s laugh burst out, quick and sharp, startling a couple nearby.
“I did,” Eva admitted. “I kept one in my bedroom for months. Mum thought I’d joined a cult.”
Rory’s mouth lifted. It felt strange, like stretching a muscle that had healed wrong.
“I still can’t believe you got away with it.”
Eva’s laughter died as fast as it came. Her eyes stayed on Rory, bright with something unshed.
“I didn’t get away with much,” Eva replied. “Not really .”
Rory turned her glass in her hands. The ice clinked, small and nervous.
Eva leaned closer again, voice low enough that it didn’t carry.
“Why didn’t you call me,” Eva asked, each word clipped clean . “One message. One. ‘I’m alive.’ That’s all I needed.”
Rory’s chest tightened until it ached. She looked at Eva’s phone on the bar, face down like an accusation.
“You wanted to be the person I ran to,” Rory muttered. “You always did.”
Eva’s eyes widened , then hardened.
“I wanted you to be alive,” Eva snapped.
Rory’s jaw clenched .
“I was alive. I just… I didn’t want to drag you into it.”
Eva’s hand slapped the bar, not hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make the whisky tremble.
“You don’t get to decide what I can carry.”
Rory flinched, then forced herself to look straight at Eva, to not hide behind the glass or the maps or the noise of strangers.
“I carried enough,” Rory replied, voice low . “I carried his moods. His fists. His apologies. I carried my dad’s disappointment when I dropped out. I carried my mum crying in the kitchen because she couldn’t fix it. I carried you telling me to leave like it was simple.”
Eva’s face drained of colour.
“I didn’t think it was simple.”
Rory’s laugh came out bitter.
“You made it sound simple.”
Eva’s hands curled around the whisky like it anchored her.
“I needed it to sound simple,” Eva replied. “If it sounded hard, you would’ve stayed.”
Rory’s throat tightened. She tasted ginger and something metallic.
Eva’s gaze slid over Rory’s face, slow, careful.
“I waited for you,” Eva continued, voice rough now . “After sixth form. After uni started. I kept checking my phone like it would ring and I’d hear your voice and you’d tell me you’d missed the train, that was all, you’d turn up with your bag and that stupid scarf you wore even in summer.”
Rory’s fingers went to her left wrist again without thinking. The scar sat there, pale and stubborn.
“I threw that scarf away,” Rory whispered.
Eva’s mouth tightened.
“Of course you did.”
Rory swallowed.
“What did you expect,” Rory asked. “That I’d keep everything the same so you could recognise me when you came back?”
Eva’s eyes flashed.
“I came back now.”
Rory leaned forward, elbows on the bar, voice sharp.
“Why now.”
Eva’s gaze dropped to the maps again, to the red thread. When she looked back up, her eyes shone, not with tears spilling, with pressure held behind a dam.
“Because I walked past and saw your face in the window,” Eva replied. “Because you looked like you were about to break your teeth from grinding them. Because I realised I could keep pretending I didn’t know where you were, or I could step inside and let you hate me properly.”
Rory stared at her, the old anger rising and tangling with something softer that hurt more.
“You didn’t come to my dad’s funeral,” Rory murmured.
Eva froze.
The bar noise rushed in around them, louder now. Glass clinked. Someone cheered at the darts board. The neon buzzed on, steady and careless.
Eva’s lips parted. Her tongue moved as if tasting the name .
“Brendan,” Eva breathed.
Rory’s eyes burned. She blinked once, slow.
“You knew,” Rory pressed. “You must’ve known. Cardiff’s a small place. People talk.”
Eva’s fingers tightened on the whisky glass until her knuckles went pale.
“I read it online,” Eva admitted. “I opened the notice. I stared at the photo until it blurred. I looked at the date and—” She cut herself off, jaw working. “I couldn’t go.”
Rory’s laugh came out thin.
“You couldn’t.”
Eva’s gaze stayed locked on Rory’s, fierce and ashamed at once.
“I couldn’t walk into that chapel and look at your mum,” Eva replied. “Not after I let you disappear. Not after I let you do it alone.”
Rory’s shoulders rose with a breath she didn’t want.
“You didn’t let me,” Rory muttered, the words coming out smaller now .
Eva leaned in, voice hard.
“I watched you pack your bag that last night. You rang me. You told me you’d found a room in London. You sounded like you’d swallowed glass. And I told you to go. I told you I’d come down the next weekend.” Eva’s mouth twisted. “And then I didn’t. I kept finding reasons. Work. Mum. Money. Fear. I kept thinking you’d come back for Christmas. Then Easter. Then never.”
Rory stared at Eva’s ring again, at the way it sat on her finger like a promise she didn’t ask for.
“You could’ve come later,” Rory whispered. “Any time.”
Eva’s shoulders lifted, fell.
“I didn’t know how to face you,” Eva replied. “Every day that passed made it worse. Like rot under floorboards. You don’t notice until the whole house stinks.”
Rory’s throat tightened. She pressed her palm against the bar, felt the sticky varnish cling.
“You’re here now,” Rory said, voice flat .
Eva nodded once, sharp.
“I’m here now.”
Rory’s gaze held Eva’s, and the years between them pressed in, a pile of unopened letters, a phone that never rang, a scarf in a bin, a funeral seat left empty.
Rory drew a slow breath through her nose.
“What do you want,” Rory asked.
Eva lifted the whisky and didn’t drink. She stared into it like it held an answer, then set it down again with care.
“I want you to tell me to leave,” Eva replied. “Or I want you to tell me where you’ve been hiding all this time. Properly. Not the short version you give strangers.”