Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7MDT1VC4QHFP7N69Q7TFB

The Raven’s Nest smelled of stale beer and regret, a scent Rory knew well. Polishing glasses behind the bar, she moved with practiced ease, the cloth a blur against the dark wood. Rain lashed against the green neon sign outside, painting streaks across the window. Tuesday nights were slow, blessedly so. She preferred the quiet. It allowed the hum of the building – the creaks of the floorboards, the distant rumble of the Tube – to fill the space, a comforting white noise against the chaos in her head. A bell above the door jangled, announcing a new arrival. Rory glanced up. He filled the doorway, a looming figure against the grey London evening. Wider, for one. His suit, expensive charcoal wool, strained across broadened shoulders. The face, though… that was the shock. Familiar angles, yes, but etched with a hardness she didn’t remember. Evan. Her grip tightened on the glass. Years. Almost five years. She hadn't pictured running into *him* here, of all places. Not ever. He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long before a slow smile crept across his lips. It didn't reach his eyes. “Rory?” The name tasted foreign on his tongue. She set the glass down with a sharp click. “Fancy seeing you.” He strolled towards the bar, the leather soles of his shoes clicking against the worn floorboards. He settled onto a stool, the one directly in front of her. Close enough to smell his aftershave—something sharp and citrusy, a world away from the cheap cologne he used to wear. “You haven’t changed a bit.” Rory raised an eyebrow. “Liar.” He chuckled, a low sound that didn't feel comforting. “Just saying. Still got that…intensity about you.” “And you’ve apparently discovered tailoring.” She busied herself with wiping down the already clean counter, avoiding his gaze. “What brings you to Soho, Evan? Last I heard you were climbing the corporate ladder in Birmingham.” “Birmingham got…suffocating. Needed a change of scenery.” He flagged her down, his eyes tracking her movements. “Whiskey. Neat.” Rory poured him a generous measure, her hand steady despite the tremor she felt inside. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the clinking of ice. “Silas in?” he asked, finally. “Back room. Meeting with someone.” She handed him the glass. He took a sip, savoring it, his eyes never leaving hers. “Old habits.” “Some habits are harder to break.” She met his gaze, refusing to flinch. "So, what *really* brings you here, Evan? Don’t insult my intelligence. You didn’t just wander into The Raven’s Nest on a whim.” He swirled the whiskey in his glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light. “Just…remembered this was your haunt. Thought I’d see if you still worked here.” “Convenient.” “Don’t be cynical, Rory.” He took another drink, then leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “I heard…things. About you. Leaving Birmingham. Moving to London.” “People talk.” “They said you were running from something. From someone.” His lip curled slightly. “Leaving a mess behind, as usual.” Rory’s jaw tightened. She forced herself to breathe, to count to ten. He hadn’t changed as much as she’d hoped. The manipulative streak was still very much intact. Years hadn’t lessened his penchant for skewering her with a single, calculated phrase. “I prefer ‘restructuring my life’ to ‘running’.” “Restructuring. Right.” He laughed, a short, mirthless sound. “How very corporate of you. Funny, considering your previous disdain for… ambition.” “People evolve.” “Do they?” He paused, his gaze sweeping over her face, lingering on the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist–a memento she usually concealed beneath a bracelet. “Or do they just trade one set of chains for another?” The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Rory’s fingers clenched around a bar towel. She knew what he was referencing, the choices she’d made, the escape she’d orchestrated. “I’m happy,” she stated, the word clipped and precise. “Happy polishing glasses in a Soho dive bar?” She slammed the towel onto the counter. “I like my job.” “Do you?” He smiled again, the same cold, calculating expression. “Or are you just…hiding?” “I’m not hiding from you, Evan.” “Aren’t you?” He leaned even closer, invading her personal space. “You haven't asked about my life. Not once. Or is that because you already know everything you need to?” She looked away, focusing on a chipped ceramic mug on the shelf. He was right. She hadn’t asked. Because she didn't want to know. Whatever success he’d achieved, whatever life he’d built, it wouldn’t change the past. It wouldn't erase the memory of his controlling behavior, the constant belittling, the isolating tactics that had chipped away at her self-worth. “What do you want, Evan?” “Just catching up. Old friends, remember?” “We weren’t friends.” The words came out harsher than she intended. His eyes darkened. “We were whatever you wanted us to be, Rory.” She shuddered, pushing the memory away. “Silas is expecting the whisky to be paid for.” He tossed a fifty onto the bar. "Keep the change." He pushed the glass towards her. “Look, I know things ended badly. I…I regret a lot of things.” “Regret doesn’t undo damage.” “I’m trying to—” “Don’t.” She cut him off, her voice low but firm. “Don’t try looking for absolution. It’s too late for that.” He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he slowly stood up, pushing his chair back with a scrape against the floor. “Alright.” He took a final look around the bar, his gaze sweeping over the faded maps and black-and-white photographs, lingering on Rory. “I guess some things never change.” He turned and walked towards the door, his silhouette a dark block against the rainy night. Rory watched him go, her hand still gripping the bar towel. The bell above the door jangled again as he disappeared into the London gloom. She leaned against the counter, her legs suddenly weak. The Raven's Nest felt colder now, the hum of the building a mournful drone. She started to clear the remaining glasses, the clinking sound echoing in the sudden silence. Silas was going to have questions. And she didn’t have any answers.