Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPBM8YD78WH6A4G65N5SHA

The green neon sign of *The Raven’s Nest* flickered against the damp London pavement, casting a sickly glow over the cobblestones. Inside, the hum of conversation wrapped around the clink of glasses, the air thick with the scent of aged whiskey and something older—leather, tobacco, secrets. Rory wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, the heat from the kitchen still clinging to her skin. She’d just dropped off the last delivery for Yu-Fei, and the weight of the night’s work settled in her shoulders like a second skin. She slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar, where the light was dimmest. Silas was polishing a glass with slow, methodical strokes, his signet ring catching the low light as it turned. He didn’t look up. “You’re late.” “Traffic on Charing Cross. Some twat in a BMW thought he owned the road.” A grunt. The glass clinked onto the shelf. “Usual?” “Please.” He poured two fingers of bourbon, neat, and slid it across the counter. Rory wrapped her fingers around it, the cold glass a brief shock against her skin. She took a sip, let it burn. The door swung open behind her, letting in a gust of autumn air and the distant wail of a siren. Rory didn’t turn. Silas’ gaze flicked past her, then sharpened. “Well. That’s a face I didn’t expect to see again.” Rory twisted on her stool. The man in the doorway had lost the boyish roundness of his cheeks, the easy grin that used to split his face in half. His jaw was sharper now, shadowed with stubble, and his once-warm brown eyes had a flatness to them, like a coin worn smooth from too many hands. He wore a tailored overcoat, the kind that cost more than Rory made in a month, but his tie was loose, the top button of his shirt undone. Like he’d started the night with intentions and ended it with something else entirely. “Jesus,” she said. Evan exhaled, a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Rory.” Silas’ polishing rag stilled. His voice dropped, low and even. “You know him?” She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Evan stepped forward, the soles of his polished shoes clicking against the wood. He stopped just short of the bar, close enough that she caught the scent of his cologne—something expensive, citrus and spice, undercut with the faint metallic tang of sweat. “Been a while,” he said. “Five years.” Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Give or take.” “You’re counting?” “Hard not to.” A muscle feathered in his jaw. He glanced at Silas, then back at her. “Can we—talk?” Silas cleared his throat. “Bar’s closed in twenty.” Rory knocked back the rest of her drink. The bourbon hit her empty stomach like a spark to kindling. “Fine. But not here.” --- The alley behind *The Raven’s Nest* was narrow, the bricks slick with rain. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting long shadows. Rory leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Evan light a cigarette with hands that didn’t quite steady. The flame wavered before catching. He exhaled smoke into the cold air. “You look good.” “Don’t.” “What?” “Lie.” Evan’s mouth quirked. Not a smile. Something bitter. “Fair enough.” He took another drag. “You *do* look good, though. Different. Harder.” “Life’ll do that.” “Yeah.” He flicked ash onto the pavement. “Heard you left Cardiff.” “Heard correctly.” “And your parents?” “Still there. Still pretending I didn’t disappoint them.” Evan winced. Or maybe it was the smoke catching in his throat. Hard to tell. “You always were too smart for law.” “Turns out, I was too smart for a lot of things.” The silence stretched, filled only with the distant hum of traffic and the drip of water from a broken gutter. Evan stubbed out his cigarette, ground it under his heel like he was trying to erase something. “Why’d you run, Rory?” She pushed off the wall. “You seriously asking me that?” “No.” His voice was quiet. Rough. “I know why. I just—wanted to hear you say it.” “Because you were a fucking nightmare.” The words came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t take them back. “Because I woke up one morning and realised I didn’t recognise myself anymore. Because every time I looked at you, I saw the person I was turning into, and I hated her.” Evan flinched. Actually flinched, like she’d struck him. For a second, she almost felt bad. Then she remembered the way his fingers had dug into her wrist the last time they’d fought, the way his voice had dropped to that low, dangerous register, the one that promised consequences. The scar on her left wrist—old, faded—ached in memory. “You could’ve just told me to stop,” he said. “Oh, right. Because that worked so well all the other times.” His hands clenched into fists, then forced themselves open. “I wasn’t—” “Don’t.” She cut him off. “Don’t you *dare* tell me you weren’t that bad. You know exactly what you were.” He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, she saw the cracks in the polished exterior. The dark smudges under his eyes. The way his shoulders hunched, just slightly, like he was bracing for a blow. “Do you ever think about it?” he asked. “About us?” “No.” “Liar.” She laughed, a short, humourless sound. “Fine. Yeah. I think about it. I think about how stupid I was. How long it took me to leave. I think about the fact that I still jump when someone raises their voice too fast.” Evan’s breath hitched. “Rory—” “But you know what I *don’t* think about?” She stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises, the ones she used to love. “I don’t think about what could’ve been. Because there was no *could’ve been*, Evan. There was only what was, and what was *suffocated* me.” He swallowed. Nodded. The fight went out of him like air from a punctured lung. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “In London.” “Work.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Finance. Boring shit.” “Suits you.” “Yeah.” A ghost of a smile. “Yeah, it does.” Another silence. This one heavier. “You ever miss it?” he asked. “Cardiff?” “Sometimes. The sea. The way the light hits the bay in the morning.” She shrugged. “But not enough to go back.” “And your friend—Eva, right? She still around?” Rory stiffened. “What do you know about Eva?” “Nothing.” Evan held up his hands. “Just remembered the name. That’s all.” Rory studied him. Decided, after a beat, that he was telling the truth. Or enough of it. “She’s good,” Rory said. “Better than good. She’s happy.” Evan’s gaze flicked to the ground. “That’s—good.” “It is.” He nodded. Shoved his hands into his pockets. “I should go.” “Yeah.” He didn’t move. Neither did she. “You ever think about what you’d do,” he started, then stopped. Cleared his throat. “If you could go back. Change things.” “All the time,” she said. “But not the way you mean.” Evan looked at her, waiting. She sighed. “I don’t wish I’d never met you. I don’t even wish I’d left sooner. I wish I’d *known*. Known my own worth. Known that love isn’t supposed to feel like a cage.” His throat worked. “I’m sorry.” Two words. Too little. Too late. But she nodded anyway. Evan turned to leave, then paused. “For what it’s worth,” he said, not looking at her, “you were always the smart one.” She watched him walk away, his shoulders straight, his steps sure. The man who’d once made her feel small now just looked like a stranger. Silas’ voice cut through the alley from the propped-open door. “You good, kid?” Rory exhaled. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” She turned back toward the bar, toward the warmth and the noise and the life she’d built. The past was a ghost, but ghosts couldn’t follow you into the light.