AI The green neon raven flickered like a dying thought as Rory pushed through the door of *The Raven’s Nest *, the hinge groaning in protest. The bar smelled of aged whiskey and old paper, the kind of scent that clung to the back of the throat. She exhaled, watching her breath curl in the dim light before dissolving into nothing. The place was nearly empty—just a couple of regulars hunched over their drinks and Silas behind the bar, polishing a glass with slow, methodical strokes.
He glanced up, his hazel eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap. “Late night for deliveries.”
Rory shrugged, shaking rain from her jacket. “Yu-Fei’s nephew forgot the soy sauce for the Lee order. Again.” She slid onto a stool, the wood worn smooth by decades of elbows and spilled liquor. “I swear, if I have to make that run one more time this week—”
“You’ll what?” Silas set the glass down . “Quit?”
She smirked. “And deprive you of my charming company?”
He didn’t laugh. Just poured her the usual—black coffee, two sugars, no milk—without asking. The mug thudded onto the counter between them. Rory wrapped her hands around it, letting the heat seep into her fingers. The scar on her left wrist, that old crescent moon, caught the light for a second before she turned her palm down.
The door opened again.
A gust of wind sent a flurry of rain inside, and Rory didn’t look up until the hinges whined shut. Then she froze.
The man shaking water from his coat wasn’t a stranger, but he might as well have been. His face was the same—sharp cheekbones, that stubborn jaw—but the rest of him was different. Softer. Slower. The boy who’d once climbed drainpipes to her bedroom window at three in the morning now moved like a man who measured every step.
*Daniel.*
His name sat in her chest like a stone.
He hadn’t seen her yet. He was scanning the room, his fingers flexing at his sides like he was searching for something to hold onto. Then his gaze landed on her, and his breath hitched.
“Rory?”
She should ’ve smiled. Should’ve said his name back, easy and familiar . But her tongue was lead. “Hello, Dan.”
He took a step forward, then stopped, as if afraid the floor might give way. “I—I didn’t know you were in London.”
“Neither did I, until a few months ago.” She lifted her coffee, took a sip. The bitter liquid burned all the way down.
Silas’s gaze flicked between them, his expression unreadable . He reached for a clean glass. “Drink?”
Daniel nodded, still staring at Rory. “Whiskey. Neat.”
Silas poured, the amber liquid glugging into the glass. Daniel took it, his fingers brushing the rim like he needed the anchor. He didn’t sit. Just stood there, close enough that Rory could see the new lines around his eyes, the way his dark hair was threaded with silver at the temples.
“You look good,” he said.
She almost laughed. “Liar.”
He flinched. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” She traced the rim of her mug. “You look … different.”
“So do you .”
Not a compliment. An observation. She’d cut her hair since he last saw her, chopped off the long waves she’d kept since university. Her cheeks were sharper now, her frame leaner, the kind of thin that came from forgetting to eat. And her eyes—God, her eyes had always been too bright, too *aware *, but now they held something else. Something that made people look away first.
Daniel finally pulled out the stool beside hers, the legs scraping against the floor. He sat, but his posture was all wrong—too stiff, like he was bracing for a blow. “I heard about Evan,” he said quietly .
Rory’s grip tightened on the mug. “Did you .”
“Eva told me. After it happened.”
Of course. Eva, who still talked to him. Eva, who’d held Rory’s hair back while she vomited into the Thames after the last time Evan put his hands on her. Eva, who’d been the one to say, *You need to disappear.*
“She shouldn’t have,” Rory said.
Daniel’s jaw clenched . “She was worried about you .”
“Were you ?”
He didn’t answer. Just took a long swallow of whiskey, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The silence between them was a living thing, thick and suffocating. Rory could hear the rain again, the steady drum of it against the windows, the distant hum of traffic on Wardour Street.
“What are you doing here, Dan?”
He set the glass down. “Work. Conference at the Barbican.”
“You’re still in academia?”
A ghost of a smile. “Tenured, actually. Manchester.”
“Congratulations.” She meant it. She also wanted to slap the smile off his face.
He studied her, his dark eyes searching. “What about you ? Eva said you were—”
“Delivering takeout and living above a bar?” She tilted her head toward Silas, who was pretending not to listen. “Glamorous, isn’t it?”
Daniel’s brow furrowed . “That’s not what I meant.”
“No?” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “What *did * you mean, then?”
He exhaled through his nose. “I meant I was worried. After Evan, after you left Cardiff… you just *vanished *. No one knew where you ’d gone. Eva wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“Because it wasn’t her story to tell.”
“Christ, Rory.” He rubbed his temple. “I was scared. We all were.”
“We.” The word tasted like ash. “You and Eva.”
“Me. Eva. Your parents. *Everyone *.”
She laughed, sharp and humorless. “My parents stopped caring the second I dropped out of law school.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” She met his gaze, unflinching. “When was the last time you talked to them, Dan? When was the last time *anyone * did ?”
He looked away first. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly.” She drained the last of her coffee, the dregs bitter on her tongue. “People like you and Eva, you get to have lives that make sense. Careers. Homes. You get to *stay *.” She set the mug down with a click. “Some of us don’t have that luxury.”
Daniel’s fingers whitened around his glass. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Do you ?”
“Of course I fucking do!” His voice cracked, raw . He lowered it, glancing at Silas, who was now very pointedly wiping down the same spot on the counter. “You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to wake up one day and realize my best friend was gone, that I hadn’t *seen * her in *three years *—”
“Two and a half,” Rory corrected automatically.
“—that I didn’t even know if she was *alive *—”
“Well, now you do.” She stood, the stool scraping back . “Congratulations on the tenure, Daniel. Tell Eva I said hello.”
She turned, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist. Not hard. Just enough. His thumb brushed the scar there, the old crescent moon, and she froze.
“Don’t,” she said.
He let go. “Please. Just—five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
She wanted to walk away. She *should * walk away. But the weight of his gaze, the way his breath was coming too fast, the *fear * in his eyes—it rooted her in place.
“Fine,” she said. “Five minutes. But not here.”
Silas cleared his throat. “Back room’s free.”
Rory shot him a look . He shrugged, unimpressed. “I’m not deaf.”
Daniel was already moving toward the bookshelf at the far end of the bar, the one with the worn copy of *The Thirty-Nine Steps * that never seemed to be in the same place twice. He pressed it, and the shelf swung open with a quiet click.
Rory followed, her pulse thrumming in her throat.
The back room was smaller than she remembered. The walls were lined with more maps, yellowed and cracked at the edges. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows. Daniel shut the door behind them, the latch clicking like a held breath.
“Say it,” Rory said.
He swallowed. “Say what?”
“Whatever you came here to say. Get it over with.”
Daniel ran a hand through his hair, messing up the careful part. “I should ’ve been there.”
“For what?”
“For *you *.”
She crossed her arms. “You were in Edinburgh.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“No, it *doesn’t *.” His voice rose, then cracked. He turned away, his shoulders hunched. “I should ’ve known. I should ’ve *seen *—”
“ Seen what, Dan?” She stepped forward, her boots silent on the worn rug. “That my boyfriend was a violent arsehole? That I was too stupid to leave until he put me in the hospital?”
“You’re not stupid.”
“Aren’t I?” She laughed, low and bitter. “I stayed for *two years *. I made excuses. I lied to *everyone *. Even Eva didn’t know how bad it was until—” She cut herself off, pressing her lips together.
Daniel turned back to her, his face pale. “Until what?”
“Until the night he broke my wrist.” She held it up, the old scar a pale crescent against her skin. “This wasn’t from a childhood accident, Dan. This was from Evan, slamming my hand in a door because I ‘looked at him wrong.’” She let her arm drop. “So don’t stand there and tell me you should ’ve *seen *. No one saw. No one *wanted * to.”
His breath came fast, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. “I should ’ve *tried *.”
“Why?” She took another step closer. “What would you have done, huh? Stormed in like some knight in shining armor? Gotten yourself hurt, too?”
“If it meant you were safe—”
“Well, I’m *not * safe, Daniel.” Her voice was a blade. “I’m not safe, and I’m not *fixed *, and I don’t get to be the person I was before. That girl’s gone. And you know what? She’s not coming back.”
He flinched like she’d struck him. “Rory—”
“No.” She held up a hand. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your *guilt *. I just want you to *leave *.”
He didn’t move. Just stood there, his hands clenched at his sides, his breath ragged. “I can’t.”
“Why the hell not ?”
“Because I *miss * you !” The words tore out of him, raw and bleeding. “I miss my best friend. I miss the way you used to laugh at stupid jokes at three in the morning. I miss the way you ’d steal my fries when you thought I wasn’t looking. I miss the *person I was * when I was with you , and I *hate * that I let you go, that I didn’t *fight *—”
His voice broke. Rory stared at him, her chest so tight she could barely breathe.
Daniel wiped his face with the heel of his hand, his shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Rory.”
She wanted to hit him. She wanted to hold him. She wanted to scream until her throat was raw.
Instead, she reached out and took his hand.
His fingers were cold. She laced hers through them, just like she used to, and squeezed.
“You didn’t let me go, Dan,” she said quietly. “I left. And I had to.”
He nodded, his throat working. “I know.”
“Do you ?”
He met her gaze, his eyes wet. “Yeah. I do.”
She let go of his hand. Stepped back. The space between them felt like an ocean .
“Good,” she said.
He swallowed. “Can I—can I see you again? Before I go back?”
She almost said no. Almost. But the way he was looking at her—like she was something precious, something fragile—made her pause.
“Maybe,” she said.
His exhale was shaky, relieved. “Okay. Okay, that’s—”
The door to the back room creaked open. Silas leaned against the frame, his arms crossed. “You two done? I’ve got a bar to close.”
Rory nodded. “Yeah. We’re done.”
Daniel hesitated, then pulled a business card from his wallet. He held it out to her. “My number. It’s the same.”
She took it. Slid it into her pocket without looking at it.
“Thanks,” he said.
She didn’t answer. Just walked past Silas, back into the dim glow of the bar. The rain had stopped. The streets outside gleamed wet and empty.
She didn’t look back.