Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7VX63GX4EMV9SVZ2DSFR5

The green neon of The Raven’s Nest bled onto the slick pavement. Rain lashed sideways, turning Soho into a smear of colour and sound. Rory wrestled a stack of menus inside, the damp cardboard threatening to disintegrate in her grip. Yu-Fei would have her hide if these got ruined. Silas polished glasses behind the bar, his movements economical, a lifetime of habit smoothing each gesture. The bar was mostly empty for a Tuesday. A couple huddled in a booth, their voices muted against the jazz spilling from the speakers. “Rough night out there,” Silas observed, not looking up. “You have no idea.” Rory dumped the menus on a small table near the door. “Feels like someone’s trying to dismantle London, piece by piece.” “Just the usual autumn weather, love. Dramatic, but harmless.” He finally glanced up, his hazel eyes assessing her. “You’re soaked. Go on, get yourself a hot drink. On the house.” “I should probably get back to deliveries.” “Yu-Fei won’t mind a few minutes. Besides,” Silas’ gaze flickered to the door, “it’s not every day a face from the past wanders in.” Rory followed his line of sight. A man stood just inside the doorway, shaking the rain from a dark coat. Tall. Broad shoulders. She hadn’t seen him in… eight years? Nine? The years blurred when you actively tried to forget someone. Evan. He hadn’t aged well. Not in the way time typically changed people. This wasn't weathering; it was… erosion. The jawline she remembered was slack, softened. The easy confidence in his eyes had curdled into something sharp, desperate. He scanned the room, and his eyes locked on hers. A flicker of recognition, followed by something unreadable. “Well, look what the storm blew in,” he said, his voice gravelly. He moved toward the bar, weaving through the few patrons. Silas subtly positioned himself between them, a silent guardian. Rory hadn't realised how much she’d missed the scent of old wood, sharp liquor, and Silas' vetiver cologne. It was a comfort, a solid anchor in a suddenly unsteady world. “Fancy seeing you here.” Rory kept her tone flat, carefully neutral. Managed to meet his stare—a small victory. “Rory.” He said her name like he was testing it, tasting the remnants of something lost. “It’s been a while.” “It has.” He perched on a stool two seats away, maintaining a careful distance. “Heard you were working around here.” “I deliver for Yu-Fei. Golden Empress. You wouldn’t know it.” “Chinese takeout? You, Rory Carter, future barrister, now delivering dumplings?” A smirk twisted his lips. A cheap shot. “People change, Evan.” She folded her arms, knuckles white. “Do they?” He turned to Silas, a dismissive wave of his hand. “Si. Still keeping this… charming establishment afloat?” “Someone has to keep the lights on.” Silas’ voice was dry. He didn’t offer Evan a drink. He simply continued polishing a glass, his movements precise, ignoring the charged energy tightening the small space. “I’m… between things.” Evan shrugged, attempting a nonchalant air that didn't quite land. “Went abroad for a bit. Prague. Briefly.” Rory felt her breath hitch. Prague. The city Silas rarely spoke of. The city that had ruined him. She glanced at Silas, but his face remained impassive. “How was Prague?” she asked, the question carefully devoid of emotion. “Cold.” He paused, and for a split second, the mask slipped. She saw a ghost of the man she’d once known—the one who’d written poetry on napkins and dreamt of changing the world. Then it was gone, replaced by the hollowed-out version before her. “Complicated.” “I imagine.” Rory took a sip of the hot tea Silas had slid her way. It scalded her tongue, but she barely noticed. “So, you’re… happy?” Evan asked, his voice surprisingly soft. He finally looked directly at her, and she saw the flicker of something that might have been remorse. Or maybe it was just desperation. “I’m okay.” “Okay? That’s it? You were supposed to be brilliant, Rory. Top of your class. You had… fire.” “Fire burns out, Evan.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Sometimes it’s better that way.” “Is it?” He laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Look at me. I’m a spectacular failure. Should have listened to you, I suppose.” “You had a choice.” Rory’s voice was low, dangerous. "We both did." He flinched. “Don’t.” “Don’t what? Don't remind you of the things you did? The choices you made?” She was losing control. Silas’ hand tightened around the glass he was polishing. “I said don’t.” Evan leaned forward, his voice a low growl. “You don’t know the half of it.” “Oh, I think I do.” Rory stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. The crescent-shaped scar on her wrist pulsed, a faint reminder of all that had been. “I know enough.” “Rory…” He reached for her, his hand hovering in the air before falling back to his side. “Don’t touch me.” She stepped back, bumping into Silas. He offered a silent, reassuring presence. “I… I messed up.” Evan’s voice was barely a whisper. “You systematically dismantled my life, Evan. ‘Messing up’ feels like a bit of an understatement, don't you think?” Rory struggled to keep her voice even. She hadn’t spoken about it, not really, in years. It was too painful. Too raw. “I was young. Stupid. I thought…” He trailed off. “You thought what? That you could control everything? That your ambition justified hurting people?” He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He looked away, staring into the murky depths of his drink. A long silence descended, broken only by the drumming of the rain and the mournful wail of the jazz saxophone. “I heard you ended up in legal trouble.” Rory surprised herself by saying it. She hadn’t intended to ask. “Small-time stuff.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing like what you’d expect.” “Right.” She raised an eyebrow. “Because you always had a knack for avoiding consequences.” The air crackled with unspoken accusations and regret. The weight of years settled between them, a heavy, suffocating blanket. “I should get back to work,” Rory said finally, her voice brittle. “Right.” Evan’s gaze followed her as she turned to leave. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. At the door, Rory paused, glancing back at him. He was still sitting at the bar, staring into his drink, a broken man. She felt a pang of something—not sympathy, not exactly. More like… a weary acknowledgement of the wreckage they both were. Silas placed a hand on her arm. “You alright?” “I will be.” She breathed, tasting ash in her throat. "Just… a bad memory resurfacing.” “Some memories cling tighter than others.” He said, his gaze fixed on Evan. Rory didn’t reply. She stepped out into the rain, the neon glow of The Raven’s Nest fading behind her. The menus felt lighter now, somehow. As if, perhaps, a small part of the weight she'd been carrying had finally been left behind.