Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYFPNFGEEVNEFCMGV9VE80

The Tuesday night crowd bled out of The Raven’s Nest an hour before closing, leaving a comfortable quiet in their wake. Aurora wiped down the last of the sticky rings on the polished mahogany bar, the familiar scent of lemon and old wood a balm. Behind her, Silas moved with his quiet, halting rhythm, the slight drag of his left foot a percussive beat against the floorboards. He restocked shelves, the clink of glass on glass methodical and soothing. The green neon sign from the window cast a mellow glow over the old maps on the walls, turning the known world into a strange and mysterious landscape. This was her sanctuary, the calm eye of her London storm. The bell above the door chimed, a sharp, unwelcome sound in the near-silence. Rory looked up from her work, a generic customer service smile ready on her lips. It faltered. The man who stood there, shaking rain from a ridiculously expensive-looking trench coat, was a ghost in a tailored suit. Older, his face filled out and chiselled in a way that spoke of money and confidence. The boyish softness she remembered was gone, replaced by a severe, handsome architecture. But the eyes were the same. A shade of blue so pale it was almost colourless, and just as cold. He scanned the room, his gaze sweeping past her before snapping back. A slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face, a performance of delighted surprise. “Rory? Aurora Carter? My God, is that you?” His voice, deeper now, still had the same lyrical Welsh cadence that once felt like home and later, a cage. She kept her hands flat on the bar, anchoring herself. Silas stilled behind her, a silent, looming presence. “Evan.” The name felt like a shard of glass in her mouth. He strode towards the bar, shedding his coat and draping it over a stool. The suit was immaculate, dark grey wool that probably cost more than her rent for the year. He took the stool opposite her, leaning forward on his elbows, the picture of casual intimacy. “I can’t believe it. After all this time. What are you doing here? Working here?” His gaze flicked around the dimly lit pub, taking in the black-and-white photographs, the worn leather of the booths. It was a look that assessed and dismissed in one clean motion. “It pays the bills.” She picked up a glass and began to polish it with a clean cloth, her movements deliberate, contained. “Of course.” He gave a small, indulgent laugh. “But… this? After Cardiff, after everything? I always pictured you in a courtroom, a proper barrister like your dad. Tearing some poor sod to pieces.” She moved to the next glass, not meeting his eyes. “Plans change.” “They certainly do.” He watched her for a long moment, the silence stretching. “You just… disappeared, Rory. One day you were there, the next, gone. No call. No note. I was out of my mind. Jenny and Brendan had no idea where you were. I thought something had happened to you.” She felt a flicker of the old anger, hot and sharp. He’d hounded her parents for months, playing the part of the distraught boyfriend so perfectly that even her own mother began to doubt her. She placed the polished glass back on the shelf with a firm click. “I needed a change of scenery.” “A change of scenery?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. The scent of his cologne, something sharp and citrusy, cut through the familiar aroma of the bar. “You moved cities, you changed your number, you fell off the face of the earth. That’s a bit more than a change of scenery, wouldn’t you say? I looked for you.” The admission hung in the air between them. A threat wrapped in a confession. Rory finally looked at him, her own bright blue eyes holding his. She had forgotten how he could command a space, how he made the world shrink until he was the only thing in it. Silas came to stand beside her, placing a heavy hand on the bar. His signet ring caught the green light. He didn’t look at Evan, just at Rory. “Everything alright here, Carter?” The use of her surname was a small, significant thing. It was Silas’s way of reminding her who she was now, in this place. Not Evan’s Rory. Just Carter. She gave a tight, almost imperceptible nod. “Just catching up with an old… acquaintance.” Evan’s smile tightened at the edges. He straightened up, his posture shifting as he acknowledged the older man for the first time. His charm switched on like a lightbulb. “Evan Pritchard. I was at university with Aurora. A lifetime ago, it seems.” He extended a hand. Silas looked at it for a second before wiping his own on his apron and giving it a brief, firm shake. The spymaster’s assessment was swift and silent. “Silas Blackwood.” He released Evan’s hand and his gaze returned to Rory. “You need me to cash out the till?” “I’ve got it, Si. Nearly done.” It was an out, a dismissal. But Evan didn’t take it. He turned his attention back to Rory as Silas retreated to the back, his limp more pronounced than usual. “So, this is your new life. A quiet little pub in Soho.” He made it sound like an epitaph. “And here I am. In town for a few days, finalising a merger for the firm. Funny how things work out.” He gestured around again, a sweep of his hand that took in her entire world. The unspoken words screamed at her: *Look at me. Look what I’ve become. And look at you. You chose this over me.* “I’m happy for you, Evan. You always knew what you wanted.” She started wiping down the counter again, a clear sign of finality. He reached across the bar, his fingers brushing the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. She flinched, pulling her arm back as if his touch were a flame. The motion was so sharp and sudden it made him blink. The mask of pleasant nostalgia cracked, and for a half-second, she saw the boy she had fled from—the tight jaw, the flash of possessive anger in his pale eyes. “Still so jumpy.” His voice was soft, laced with something that sounded like pity, but felt like venom. “I worried that about you. That you’d never…” “Never what?” Her voice was low and quiet, but it cut through the air. All the practiced cool-headedness was gone, replaced by a raw, protective instinct. “Finish my law degree? Settle down? Live up to my potential?” He held her gaze, his own expression unreadable. The practised smile returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I was just going to say I worried you’d never be happy, Laila.” It was a punch to the gut. *Laila*. The pet name he used when he was trying to smooth things over, to paper over the cracks his anger had made. The name no one else had ever called her. He stood up, pulling his coat back on. He was all smooth lines and expensive fabric. A man who had remade himself into something successful and respectable. A man who looked nothing like the monster she kept locked in her memory. “It was good to see you, Aurora.” He placed a business card on the clean countertop. The lettering was embossed, the corners sharp. “If you ever get tired of this and want to talk to someone about a real job, give me a call. For old times’ sake.” He gave her one last look, a long, searching appraisal, then turned and walked out. The bell above the door chimed his departure, and the silence he left behind was heavier than the noise had been. Rory stared at the business card as if it were a poisonous insect. Her hands trembled. Silas reappeared at her side, a lowball glass in his hand. He pushed it towards her across the bar. It was filled with amber liquid. “Drink this.” His voice was gruff but gentle. He nudged the card with his thumb, sending it skittering off the edge of the bar and down into the waste bin behind it. He didn’t ask who Evan was. He didn’t ask what had happened.