Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVPDG2MNYAA051CR5E9WTTZ

Rain lashed the Soho pavement, distorting the distinctive green neon sign above the entrance to The Raven’s Nest. Rory sat at the far end of the mahogany bar. Her delivery jacket reeked of Golden Empress garlic and damp wool. She traced the condensation forming on her pint glass with a single, blunt fingernail. Silas swiped a crushed rag over the varnished wood. His slight limp favored his left leg, an uneven, dragging rhythm she recognized over the low jazz thumping from the jukebox. The silver signet ring on his right hand clicked a steady beat against a stack of clean tumblers. Dim amber light from the hanging lamps caught the sharp grey streaks in his auburn beard. He caught her bright blue eyes in the mirror behind the spirits, offering a silent question. Rory shook her head, turning back to her pint. The heavy oak front door swung inward. A gust of raw, wet wind scattered a stack of paper coasters across the floorboards. Rory gripped her glass. A woman stood in the threshold, shaking water from an immaculate matte-black trench coat. Sharp, tailored slacks cut off above the ankle. Pointed stiletto boots struck the entrance mat. Platinum blonde hair, severe and ironed flat, replaced the messy chestnut waves Rory remembered tangling in the Cardiff sea breeze. Eva. Rory stiffened. Her fingers found the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, pressing deep into the familiar ridge of old tissue. Eva scanned the room. Her gaze swept past the mounted black-and-white photographs of wartime London, past the framed maps of the Underground, before snagging on the end of the bar. Silence swallowed the space between them. Eva moved across the room. The strike of her heels sounded hollow against the scuffed floor. She claimed the stool two seats down from Rory, folding her trench coat over her lap. Her perfume flooded the air, overriding the smell of stale beer—a sharp, aggressive scent of jasmine and cracked black pepper. Silas approached, wiping his hands on a towel. "Gin martini. Dry. Three olives." Eva placed a rigid fifty-pound note on the counter. Her manicured fingernails tapped the wood, a frantic, impatient rhythm. "Not much of a martini crowd in this weather." Silas pocketed the note. "I prefer the cold." Silas limped down the length of the bar to the premium spirits shelf. Eva turned her head. "You kept the black hair." "You ditched the brown." Rory kept her gaze on her pint. "Maintenance was a nightmare. Platinum commands attention in the boardroom." "It commands bleach." Eva touched her collarbone, bare beneath the sharp lapels of her blazer. "Seven years, Rory. You look the same." "I smell like Kung Pao chicken." "You smell like survival." Silas placed a frosted glass on a cocktail napkin. He pushed a toothpick loaded with three green olives across the rim. He scooped a handful of coins from the till, laid the change beside Eva’s elbow, and met Rory’s eyes again. His hazel gaze held firm, a silent offer to bounce the unwelcome guest. Rory offered a slight shake of her head. Silas gathered an empty crate. He navigated past the till and pushed a worn copy of Dickens embedded in the rear bookshelf. The structure clicked and swung inward, revealing the dark void of his private back room. He stepped through, pulling the shelf shut behind him. Eva took a measured sip. Her skin pulled tight around the corners of her mouth, lacking the chaotic, bruised warmth of their university days. Shadows lived deep under her eyes, masked by heavy, expensive concealer. "You never called." Rory addressed the peeling label on her beer bottle. "You vanished." "You told me to run." "I told you to get away from Evan. I didn't tell you to disappear off the face of the earth." "He knew all my spaces, Eva. He knew our spaces." "I sat at The Goat every Friday for six months waiting for you to walk in." "I was slinging noodles in Camden." "We were inseparable. No forwarding address, no number." "Evan smashed my phone against the kitchen tiles. You know that. I boarded a bus out of Cardiff with thirty quid and a fractured wrist." Eva rolled the olive toothpick between her thumb and forefinger. The platinum hair formed a sharp curtain over her profile, hiding her expression. "I stayed." Eva stared at the olive suspended in the clear liquor. "I stayed and finished the law degree you abandoned." "Congratulations. You wanted the courtroom." "I went corporate. Mergers and acquisitions. Bankrupting family businesses for multinational conglomerates." "Fulfilling work." "It pays for the shoes." Rory took a long swallow of her lager. The bitter draft coated her tongue. Eva radiated tension, a high-frequency hum of defensive armor. The girl who used to steal traffic cones and smoke roll-ups on the roof of the student union existed nowhere in the striking woman sitting beside her. "Are you happy, Eva?" "I am successful." "That isn't what I asked." "Happiness is a metric for children. Adults measure stability." "You sound like him." Eva’s hand froze halfway to her mouth. The martini sloshed over the rim, bleeding into the paper napkin. "Never compare me to Evan." "He fed me those exact words. Right before he started breaking the china." "I dictate the terms of my life, Rory. I answer to nobody." Rory traced her crescent scar again. The skin burned under her touch, phantom aches flaring from a past she buried under soot and London rain. "You ran into him." Rory pressed her thumb into her pulse point. Eva broke eye contact. Her posture deteriorated, shoulders slumping as she stared at the amber glow of the spirits shelf. "Two years ago. A charity gala in the Bay." "Did you speak to him?" "He approached me." Rory gripped the edge of the bar. The wood dug into her palms. "He runs his father's firm now. Bespoke suit, charming smile, pouring champagne for the partners." "He always played his part in public." "He asked about you." "What did you tell him?" "Nothing. I possessed no information to surrender. I stood in a velvet gown, staring at the man who shattered my best friend's bones, and I clinked glasses with him." Rory exhaled. The air rushed out of her lungs in a jagged, hollow breath. Eva drained the rest of her glass. She chewed the olive with mechanical repetition. "His firm considered a merger with my firm." Eva pushed the empty glass away. "I laughed at his jokes while you were hiding in London smelling like frying oil." "You made a choice for your ascent." "I compromised the only thing I cared about. I comprised us." The neon sign buzzed through the damp brick walls, casting a sickly green hue over the frosted glass. Silas re-emerged from the bookshelf room, his limp heavy as he carried a stack of fresh towels. He gave them a wide berth, stacking the linens near the till. "I didn't hide." Rory let her hand drop from her wrist to her damp jeans. "I built a life. I have this bar. I have friends." "You deliver takeaways." "Part-time. I work for Yu-Fei. She treats me well. I pay my rent for the flat upstairs." "You belong in a courtroom, Rory. You decimated the mock trials." "I belong where no one raises a hand to me." Eva reached out. Her manicured fingers hovered inches from Rory’s sleeve, stopping short of actual contact. The gesture hung suspended in the space between them, a ghost of old affection paralyzed by an ocean of unsaid betrayals. "I miss the girl who dragged me to the sea at three in the morning to scream at the waves." Eva pulled her hand back, curling her fingers into a tight fist in her lap. "She drowned in the Severn Estuary." Rory picked at the peeling wood of the bar. "Along with my law textbooks." "He ruined your potential." "He broke my wrist. He fractured my spirit. You drinking champagne with him shattered whatever remained." Eva flinched. The sharp, tailored lines of her face collapsed, exposing an exhausted, hollow shell beneath the layers of expensive foundation. She looked a decade older than twenty-five. "I requested a transfer to the London office." Eva unclasped a leather purse from her shoulder. "I arrived this morning." Rory watched a bead of condensation slide down her glass and pool on the mahogany. "London spans a wide grid." "I looked up the Golden Empress. Posed as a customer on the phone. The owner mentioned you lived above a pub in Soho. A place with a neon sign." "A significant expenditure of effort." "I want to make amends." "You cannot bill me for your lost hours, Eva." "I want my friend back." Rory turned her stool to face the entrance. Outside, the storm washed the streets clean, swirling debris down the bloated gutters. The green light flickered, throwing an eerie, submerged glow over the slick cobblestones. Silas placed a fresh martini in front of Eva. "On the house." He gathered the empty glass and retreated to the far sink. Eva stared at the fresh drink. The gin caught the dim light, clear and biting. "Nothing is ever on the house," Rory noted, keeping her gaze pinned to the dreary street outside. "Everything extracts a price."