Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYZ4E9D1FX8TKG1R2J70KD

The green neon sign above the entrance buzzed with a dying insect's rhythm, casting a sickly pallor over the wet pavement of Soho. Rain slicked the cobblestones, reflecting the distorted glow of shop windows and passing taxi headlights. Rory pushed through the heavy oak door of The Raven's Nest, shaking water from her black hair before it could drip onto the worn floorboards. The air inside smelled of stale beer, lemon polish, and the distinct, earthy scent of old paper that clung to the maps lining the walls. She navigated the sparse crowd, her eyes scanning the room for the usual Tuesday night lull. Her shifts at the Golden Empress had run late, and the promise of a quiet pint before climbing the stairs to her flat above the bar pulled her forward. She spotted Silas behind the counter, his grey-streaked auburn hair catching the low light as he polished a glass with methodical precision. His limp disappeared behind the bar's waist-high counter, leaving only the quiet authority of his posture. A figure sat at the far end of the bar, hunched over a tumbler of amber liquid. The man turned as Rory approached, and the motion froze her mid-stride. The sharp jawline she remembered had softened into jowls. The confident set of the shoulders had collapsed inward. But the eyes remained the same—dark, intelligent, now clouded with a fatigue that went deeper than lack of sleep. "Evan," she said. The name felt like a stone dropped into a deep well. He flinched, the glass halting halfway to his lips. He turned fully on the stool, the leather creaking under his weight. "Rory. Christ. I didn't think... I wasn't sure you'd still be in London." "I live upstairs." She kept her voice flat, refusing to let the tremor in her hands show. She gripped the edge of the bar, her thumb brushing the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. "What are you doing here?" "Passing through." Evan looked down at his drink, swirling the ice. "Business. Thought I'd grab a drink before catching the train back to Cardiff." "You haven't set foot in Cardiff since we were eighteen." "People change plans." He looked up, attempting a smile that didn't reach his eyes. It stretched the skin too tight, revealing the yellowing of his teeth. "You look good. Different, but good. The hair." "It's been black for seven years." "Right. Seven years." He took a long pull of his whiskey, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Time flies when you're running away from things, I suppose." Silas moved down the bar, his presence a silent intervention. He placed a fresh napkin in front of Evan without being asked. "Another, Mr. Thorne? Or shall I fetch the bill?" Evan glanced at the older man, recognizing the subtle dismissal wrapped in hospitality. "Another. Please." Silas turned his hazel gaze to Rory. "The usual, love?" "Just water tonight, Si." Silas nodded, pouring a glass from the tap. He slid it toward her, his silver signet ring clicking against the wood. He lingered for a heartbeat, reading the tension in the set of Rory's shoulders, before retreating to the other end of the bar to wipe down surfaces that already gleamed. "You're working for him now?" Evan gestured vaguely toward Silas. "I live above him. I deliver food for Yu-Fei down the street. It pays the rent." "Delivery girl." Evan laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "The great Aurora Carter, pre-law star of Cardiff University, delivering takeout in Soho. Your father would have a fit." "My father stopped speaking to me the day I left Evan." She corrected herself, the slip of the name hanging in the air between them like smoke. "The day I left you." "I never meant for it to get that bad, Rory. You know that. The stress, the pressure at the firm..." "You broke my wrist." She held up her left hand, turning it so the dim light caught the pale arc of the scar. "You said it was an accident. We both knew it wasn't." Evan shifted on the stool, his knee bouncing nervously. "I was drunk. I apologized a thousand times. You just wouldn't listen." "I listened to every apology while you made the promises you never kept. Then I stopped listening." She took a sip of water, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the burn in her chest. "Why are you really here, Evan? You don't do 'passing through'. You plan everything down to the minute." He stared into the bottom of his glass. The bravado drained out of him, leaving a hollowed-out shell. "Jenny died." The name of his mother hit her with the force of a physical blow. Jennifer Ellis, her own mother's oldest friend, the woman who had bandaged Rory's wrist and whispered secrets about Evan's temper that Rory had refused to hear. "When?" Rory asked. "Three months ago. Pancreatic. Fast." Evan's voice cracked. "She asked for you. Right at the end. Kept saying your name. 'Where's Rory? Why won't Rory come home?'" "I wasn't welcome there. You made sure of that." "I tried to tell her you were busy. Building a life." He looked at her, his eyes glassy. "She didn't believe me. She said I drove you away. She said I destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me." Silence stretched between them, filled only by the murmur of other patrons and the clink of glass from Silas's end of the bar. The black-and-white photographs on the wall seemed to watch them, frozen moments of lives lived fully, contrasting sharply with the stagnation in Evan's posture. "I'm sorry, Rory." The words came out rushed, desperate. "I'm so sorry. I lost my job six months ago. The firm let me go. Drinking too much, missing deadlines. Just like..." He trailed off, unable to finish the comparison. "I have nothing left. No job, no mother, no..." "No wife?" "She left last week. Took the kids." He buried his face in his hands. "I don't know how to fix it. I thought if I came to London, if I saw you, maybe... maybe you could tell me how to start over. You always knew what to do. You were the smart one." Rory looked at the man who had once terrified her, the man whose shadow she had fled across the country to escape. She saw the fear now, raw and exposed. It didn't make her forgive him. It didn't erase the nights she spent checking locks or the way she still flinched at raised voices. But it stripped him of the monster she had built in her mind, leaving just a broken, pathetic human being. "There is no starting over, Evan." Her voice remained steady, cool-headed despite the storm churning in her gut. "There is only moving forward. And you have to do it alone." "You can't just say that." He reached out, his fingers grazing the sleeve of her jacket. She pulled back before his touch could land, the movement sharp and decisive. "Don't." "I need help." "I am not your savior. I am not the person you come to when your life falls apart because you refuse to take responsibility for it." She stood up, pushing the stool back with a screech of wood on wood. "Finish your drink. Pay Silas. Get on your train." "Rory, please." She turned her back on him, walking toward the staircase that led to her flat. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of years pressing down on her shoulders. She didn't look back. She couldn't. If she saw the pleading in his eyes, the ghost of the boy she once loved beneath the ruin of the man he became, she might falter. At the foot of the stairs, she paused. Silas stood nearby, pretending to sort bottles, but his eyes held hers. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod, a silent affirmation of her choice. "Keep the change, Si," she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet bar. She climbed the stairs, the wood groaning under her feet. Above, the hallway waited, dark and familiar. She reached her door, fumbled with her keys, and stepped inside, closing the world and the man she used to know firmly behind her. The lock clicked into place, a final, solid sound that severed the tie. She leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door, breathing in the dust and silence of her own space, safe and alone.