Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQBBZ51RDEC7VGYNGZCP66

The green neon sign of *The Raven’s Nest* flickered like a dying firefly in the London drizzle, casting a sickly glow over the cobblestones. Rory ducked under the awning, shaking water from her jacket before pushing through the heavy oak door. The familiar scent of aged whiskey and polished wood wrapped around her, thick as a blanket. The bar was quiet tonight—just a few regulars hunched over their drinks, the low hum of conversation barely rising above the crackle of the fireplace. Silas looked up from behind the counter, his hazel eyes sharp even in the dim light. He gave her a nod, the kind that didn’t need words, and slid a glass of amber liquid toward her usual spot at the far end. Rory stripped off her gloves, flexing her fingers against the cold, and took the seat. The whiskey burned smooth down her throat, warming her from the inside out. She was halfway through her second drink when the door swung open again, letting in a gust of wind and the sharp, sudden laughter of a man’s voice. *"Christ, it’s like walking into a tomb in here."* Rory’s fingers tightened around her glass. That voice. She didn’t turn. Couldn’t. Not yet. The weight of it pressed down on her chest like a stone, stealing her breath. She kept her gaze fixed on the whiskey, on the way the light caught the rim of the glass, on anything but the man now striding toward the bar. *"Silas, you old bastard, still serving this swill?"* The man dropped onto the stool beside her, close enough that she caught the scent of his cologne—something expensive, woodsy, the kind Evan used to wear. *"I’d ask what’s good tonight, but let’s be honest, nothing in this place ever was."* Silas chuckled, low and dry. *"Some things don’t change, Daniel."* Daniel. Rory’s stomach twisted. She risked a glance. He looked different. Older, sure—that was inevitable—but not in the way she’d expected. His once-lean frame had filled out, broadened by years of good meals and better tailoring. His dark hair was still thick, but threaded with silver at the temples, and his face—God, his face. The sharp angles of his youth had softened, settled into something more assured, more *certain*. He wore a wool overcoat, the kind that cost more than her monthly rent, and when he turned to face her, his eyes—still that impossible green—widened in recognition. *"Rory?"* She swallowed. *"Hello, Daniel."* For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The air between them hummed, charged with a decade’s worth of unsaid things. Then, slowly, he smiled. It was the same smile she remembered—the one that had always made her feel like the only person in the room—but now it didn’t reach his eyes. *"I didn’t know you were in London."* *"I didn’t know you were either."* She took a sip of her drink, the whiskey suddenly bitter on her tongue. *"Last I heard, you were in New York. Or was it Hong Kong?"* *"Tokyo, actually."* He flagged down Silas, ordered a bourbon—neat, top shelf—without looking away from her. *"Been there five years. Head of Asia-Pac for the firm."* Of course he was. Daniel had always been destined for boardrooms and private jets, for a life where the biggest problem was choosing between first-class and a chartered flight. She’d known that even when they were nineteen, crammed into the back of some dive pub in Cardiff, dreaming up futures that never quite aligned. *"You look good,"* he said. She almost laughed. *"Liar."* *"No, I mean it."* His gaze flicked over her—her worn leather jacket, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her fingers still clenched the glass like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. *"Different. But good."* Different. That was one word for it. She wasn’t the girl he’d known. That Rory had been soft-spoken, studious, the kind of person who color-coded her notes and never missed a lecture. This Rory had a scar on her wrist from a broken bottle, a fake ID in her wallet, and a knack for slipping out of rooms before the police arrived. *"You cut your hair,"* he said. She touched the ends self-consciously. *"It was practical."* *"Right."* He nodded, like that explained everything. *"Practical. That’s you."* Silas set Daniel’s drink in front of him, then melted back into the shadows, leaving them to it. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. *"So,"* Daniel said finally, swirling his bourbon. *"What are you doing here?"* *"Working."* She jerked her chin toward the kitchen, where the clatter of dishes and the sharp scent of garlic and ginger drifted out. *"I deliver for the restaurant upstairs."* His brows lifted. *"You? A delivery girl?"* *"Someone’s got to do it."* *"But—"* He cut himself off, shaking his head. *"Never mind. That’s not what I meant."* *"Then what did you mean?"* He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. *"I don’t know. I just… I thought you’d be a lawyer by now. Or—"* He gestured vaguely. *"Something else. Something bigger."* Rory stared into her drink. *"Plans change."* *"Yeah."* His voice was quiet. *"Yeah, they do."* She could feel him watching her, could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to reconcile the woman in front of him with the girl he’d known. The girl who’d wanted to change the world. The girl who’d believed in justice, in fairness, in all the things that had turned out to be lies. *"You ever finish your degree?"* he asked. *"No."* *"But you were so close."* *"Life got in the way."* She traced the rim of her glass with her thumb, the scar on her wrist catching the light. *"You remember Evan?"* The name hung between them, heavy as a corpse. Daniel’s expression darkened. *"Your boyfriend. Yeah, I remember him."* *"Ex-boyfriend."* She took a long, slow breath. *"Turns out he liked hitting me more than he liked law school."* Daniel went very still. *"He what?"* *"You heard me."* She met his gaze, unflinching. *"I left. Came here. Started over."* His jaw tightened. *"Why didn’t you tell me?"* *"When? When you were in Tokyo? When you were busy building your empire?"* She shook her head. *"It doesn’t matter now."* *"Like hell it doesn’t."* His voice was low, rough with something she couldn’t name. *"Rory, if I’d known—"* *"You would’ve what? Flown back to save me?"* She laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. *"I didn’t need saving, Daniel. I just needed to get the hell out."* He looked like she’d slapped him. She immediately regretted it. *"I’m sorry,"* she muttered. *"That was—"* *"No."* He cut her off, shaking his head. *"No, you’re right. I wasn’t here. I didn’t know."* He took a long swallow of his drink, his throat working. *"I should’ve checked on you."* *"You had your own life."* *"So did you."* His eyes burned into hers. *"You could’ve called."* She looked away. *"I didn’t want to."* *"Why not?"* Because pride was a stubborn thing. Because admitting she’d failed—at law school, at her relationship, at the life she’d been *supposed* to have—had been too much to bear. Because Daniel had always been the one who *made it*, and she hadn’t wanted him to see her like this: broken, adrift, a shadow of who she’d been. *"I don’t know,"* she lied. He studied her for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. *"I’m only in town for a few days. Business trip. Some merger nonsense."* *"Of course."* She forced a smile. *"Always the high-flyer."* *"Yeah."* He didn’t smile back. *"Listen, Rory—"* *"It’s Aurora now."* The words slipped out before she could stop them. *"I go by Aurora."* His brows knit. *"Since when?"* *"Since I decided I didn’t want to be Rory anymore."* She shrugged, like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t spent months staring at her reflection, hating the face that stared back. *"Aurora sounded… stronger."* *"You were always strong."* She looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw the same regret in his eyes that had been gnawing at her for years. *"We were kids,"* she said softly. *"We didn’t know anything."* *"No."* His voice was rough. *"We didn’t."* Silas appeared at the end of the bar, wiping down a glass with a cloth that had seen better days. *"Closing up in ten, you two."* Daniel glanced at his watch—a sleek, expensive thing that probably cost more than her bike—and nodded. *"Right. I should go."* Rory told herself she didn’t care. Told herself it was better this way. But when he stood, when he hesitated just a second too long, like he wanted to say something else, she found herself holding her breath. *"It was good seeing you, Rory."* His voice was quiet. *"Aurora."* *"You too, Daniel."* He lingered another moment, then turned and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him with a finality that made her chest ache. Silas set a fresh drink in front of her, his expression unreadable. *"You okay, kid?"* She nodded, blinking back the sting in her eyes. *"Yeah. Just… old ghosts."* *"Ghosts have a way of coming back."* He leaned against the counter, his signet ring glinting in the low light. *"You want my advice?"* *"Do I ever?"* He ignored that. *"Don’t let the past be the only thing that defines you."* She swirled her whiskey, watching the amber liquid cling to the sides of the glass. *"What if it’s all I’ve got?"* Silas gave her a long, measuring look. *"Then you’re not looking hard enough."* Outside, the rain had stopped. The streets glistened under the flickering glow of the streetlamps, empty and quiet. Somewhere out there, Daniel was walking away, his life still moving forward while hers felt suspended in time. Rory downed the rest of her drink, the burn grounding her. Maybe Silas was right. Maybe she’d been looking at things all wrong. Or maybe some wounds just never healed, no matter how much time passed.