Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQ6MAVFE2Z51N2G5MX0RZ6

The Raven’s Nest hummed with the low murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter that rose and fell like a tide. Rory wiped her hands on her apron, balancing a tray of empty pint glasses against her hip as she weaved through the crowd. The green neon sign outside cast a sickly glow over the bar, turning the faces of the patrons into shifting masks of light and shadow. She hadn’t expected the night to be busy. Not on a Tuesday. But the Nest was never empty, not really. Silas had a way of drawing people in—lost souls, old spies, drifters with stories too heavy to carry alone. Rory slid the tray onto the bar and turned to grab a fresh cloth when she saw him. He was sitting in the corner booth, the one with the cracked leather and the view of the door. The light caught the silver in his hair, the sharp angle of his jaw. His fingers tapped against the rim of a half-empty glass, the signet ring on his right hand catching the dim light like a warning. Her breath hitched. Evan. But no—it couldn’t be. Evan was back in Cardiff, or at least that’s what she’d told herself for the past three years. Evan didn’t drink whiskey neat. Evan didn’t sit still. Evan didn’t have that scar above his eyebrow, the one that pulled at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. The man in the booth looked up. Their eyes locked. Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat. She should have turned away. She should have ducked into the kitchen, told Silas she was sick, anything but stand there like a deer in headlights. But she didn’t move. Couldn’t. He stood. The years had carved lines into his face she didn’t recognize. His shoulders were broader, his posture straighter, like he’d spent the time since she’d last seen him carrying something heavier than regret. He walked toward her, slow, deliberate, and Rory’s fingers tightened around the edge of the bar until her knuckles ached. “Rory.” His voice was deeper. Rougher. The way he said her name—like he’d been practicing it in the dark. She swallowed. “You’re not supposed to be here.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Neither are you.” The air between them thickened, charged with everything they weren’t saying. The last time she’d seen him, he’d had her pinned against a wall, his breath hot on her neck, his voice a snarl. *You’re not leaving me.* She’d believed him then. She’d believed a lot of things. She forced herself to breathe. “What do you want?” He tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle he’d been trying to solve. “To talk.” “About what?” “About why you ran.” The words hung between them, sharp and unyielding. Rory’s chest tightened. She could feel Silas watching from the other end of the bar, his hazel eyes sharp, assessing. She didn’t need his protection—not anymore—but the weight of his presence steadied her. “I didn’t run,” she said, lifting her chin. “I left.” Evan exhaled through his nose, a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been so bitter. “Semantics.” “It’s not semantics if it’s the truth.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath, the faint scent of soap beneath it. “You changed your name. You moved cities. You didn’t even say goodbye.” Rory’s fingers curled into fists. “You think I owed you that?” “You owed me the truth.” “The truth?” Her voice cracked. “The truth is I was scared. The truth is I woke up every morning wondering if that was the day you’d finally—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “I didn’t run. I survived.” Evan’s jaw tightened. For a second, she thought he might reach for her. Instead, his hands flexed at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to grab something that wasn’t his to take. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t wake up every damn day wishing I could take it all back?” Rory’s throat burned. She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. But the past wasn’t something you could rewrite, no matter how much you begged for a second chance. “It’s too late for that,” she said quietly. Evan’s gaze flicked over her shoulder, toward the door, like he was considering walking out. Then he met her eyes again, and the raw, unfiltered pain in them made her stomach twist. “Is it?” The question hung between them, heavy and unanswered. Rory didn’t know. She didn’t know anything anymore. She turned away first, her hands trembling as she reached for the tray of glasses. “I have to get back to work.” Evan didn’t stop her. He didn’t say another word. He just stood there, watching, as she walked away.