Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYH82K8AR8QC15KJBYWKV0

The Raven’s Nest smelled of aged whiskey and polished wood, the dim glow of green neon from the sign outside casting long shadows across the bar. Aurora wiped her hands on her jeans, still damp from the rain outside, and slid onto a stool. The bartender nodded at her—she was a regular—and set down a glass of bourbon without asking. She wrapped her fingers around it, the warmth seeping into her skin. The door creaked open behind her, letting in a gust of wet London air. She didn’t turn, not until she heard the voice. “Rory?” The sound of her name in that particular tone—half disbelief, half something softer—made her spine stiffen. She knew that voice. Knew it like the back of her hand, like the shape of her own heartbeat. Slowly, she turned. Evan stood there, rain dripping from the hem of his coat. His hair was longer than she remembered, curling at the nape of his neck, and there was a new scar cutting through his left eyebrow. But his eyes—those hadn’t changed. Still that same piercing blue, the kind that used to make her stomach flip. “Christ,” she muttered, lifting the bourbon to her lips. “Small world.” He hesitated before stepping closer, his boots leaving damp prints on the floor. “You look—” “Different?” She arched a brow. “Yeah. Five years’ll do that.” Evan exhaled sharply through his nose, as if she’d punched him. He slid onto the stool beside her, motioning to the bartender for a drink. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” “Likewise.” She traced the crescent scar on her wrist absently, the one he used to kiss when he thought she was sleeping. “You in town for long?” “Depends.” His drink arrived—whiskey neat, same as always—and he took a slow sip. “You still living above Silas’ place?” She shot him a look. “You keeping tabs?” “No.” He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his glass. “Just remembered you talking about it, back when—” “Don’t.” Her fingers tightened around her drink. “Don’t do that.” “Do what?” “Pretend like you get to reminisce.” Her voice was low, edged with something sharper than she’d intended. “You don’t.” Evan’s jaw worked. He stared down at his whiskey like it held answers. “I deserved that.” “You deserve a lot of things.” She knocked back the rest of her bourbon, the burn doing little to dull the ache in her chest. “What are you really doing here, Evan?” He hesitated. Then, quieter: “I heard about your dad.” Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected that. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” His thumb stilled. “I’m sorry, Rory.” She swallowed hard. The funeral had been three months ago—closed casket, just like Brendan would’ve wanted. No fuss, no theatrics. Just silence. “Thanks.” Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. The bar hummed with murmured conversations, the clink of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter. None of it reached them. “You working?” Evan asked finally. “Delivery gig.” She shrugged. “Pays the rent.” “Still writing?” She glanced at him, surprised he remembered. “Sometimes.” He nodded, as if that meant something. “I read that piece you did last year. The one about the docks.” Her stomach twisted. “You kept up with my work?” “Course I did.” He said it like it was obvious, like there had never been any other option. She looked away. The neon sign flickered outside, painting the bar in pulses of green. “Why are you really here, Evan?” He exhaled, long and slow. “Had business in the city. Thought I’d stop by.” “Bullshit.” His mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Always could read me.” “Yeah, well.” She pushed her empty glass away. “Some habits die hard.” He studied her for a long moment, his gaze tracing the lines of her face like he was memorizing her all over again. “You cut your hair.” She touched the ends self-consciously. “Needed a change.” “Suits you.” His voice was softer now, almost tender. “You look good, Rory.” She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The weight of everything unsaid pressed between them—the fights, the apologies never given, the way he’d walked out without looking back. The way she’d let him. Evan cleared his throat. “You ever think about—” “No.” She stood abruptly, the stool scraping against the floor. “I don’t.” He didn’t try to stop her. Just watched as she dug a few crumpled bills from her pocket and tossed them on the bar. “Take care of yourself, Evan.” She was almost to the door when he spoke again, his voice barely audible over the hum of the bar. “I miss you.” Her hand froze on the door handle. She didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Then she pushed through, stepping back out into the rain.