AI The green neon sign of The Raven’s Nest bled a sickly light onto the rain-slicked pavement of Greek Street. Aurora Carter hunched deeper into her worn parka, wishing she’d opted for the umbrella. Delivering General Tso’s chicken at this hour was rarely glamorous, and tonight felt particularly bleak. She pushed open the door, a small bell tinkling overhead, and the familiar scent of stale beer, polished wood, and something faintly metallic – Silas’ peculiar blend of cleaning solutions – washed over her.
The bar was its usual dim self. Maps of forgotten empires and black-and-white photographs of austere men lined the walls, a silent gallery observing the ebb and flow of the few patrons scattered at the tables. Silas, behind the bar, looked up from polishing a glass. His grey-streaked auburn hair was impeccably neat, his beard trimmed with the precise dedication of a man who has nothing left to lose. He noticed her immediately.
“Rory,” he said, his voice a low rumble that hadn’t changed a bit. "Delivery tonight?"
Aurora offered a tired smile. “Yu-Fei’s keeps me busy. Enough to pay the rent above, at least.” She shrugged out of her parka, revealing a faded band t-shirt beneath. "Quiet night?"
"Quiet enough," Silas said, setting the glass down. He gestured to a stool at the bar. "Have a seat. Let me get you something. Coffee? Something stronger?"
She settled onto the stool, the leather giving slightly under her weight . “Coffee would be good, thanks.”
A figure stood near the back, hunched over a glass of amber liquid. Something about her posture, the way she held herself, stopped Aurora in her tracks. She didn’t immediately recognize her. Too polished, too…contained. But as the woman turned, a hesitant sip of her drink, Aurora’s breath hitched.
It was Elara .
Elara Thorne. Her Elara, from their university days. The girl who’d practically vibrated with chaotic energy, who’d dyed her hair every shade of the rainbow, who’d argued passionately about poetry and politics until the early hours. This woman, however, was a study in muted elegance. Her hair was a sleek, dark bob, framing a face made sharp and severe by expensive makeup. She wore a tailored charcoal grey suit that probably cost more than Aurora’s entire wardrobe.
Elara didn’t seem to notice her yet, her gaze fixed on something beyond the confines of the bar. Aurora felt a strange paralysis, a sudden inability to breathe. Fifteen years. Fifteen years since they’d last spoken, since they’d shared a bottle of cheap wine and whispered dreams of conquering the world.
Silas, ever observant, followed her gaze. He placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of her. "You know Elara Thorne?" he asked quietly, his voice low enough not to carry across the room.
Aurora nodded, barely able to find her voice. “We went to university together.”
Silas raised an eyebrow , a flicker of something unreadable in his hazel eyes. "A long time ago."
“A very long time,” she agreed, her gaze still fixed on Elara .
Elara finally looked up, her eyes sweeping over the room. They landed on Aurora. For a moment, her expression was blank, a professional’s mask. Then, a flicker of recognition , a brief flash of the girl Aurora remembered. Her lips curved into a tight, controlled smile.
“Rory? Is that really you?”
The sound of her voice, a bit deeper, a bit smoother than Aurora remembered, sent a jolt through her. Aurora managed a shaky smile in return. “Elara . Wow. You…you look…” She trailed off, searching for the right word.
“Different?” Elara supplied, her smile widening just a fraction. She walked toward the bar, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. Every movement was precise, deliberate. “Time does that to you, doesn't it?”
“It does,” Aurora said, feeling increasingly awkward.
Elara signaled to Silas, who immediately appeared at her side. “Whiskey, neat,” she instructed, her voice cool and assured.
“So,” Elara said, turning back to Aurora. “What have you been up to? Last I heard, you were… pursuing law?”
Aurora grimaced. “That didn’t last. Ended up delivering Chinese food.” She immediately regretted the self-deprecation, but the words were out.
Elara ’s expression didn’t shift. “Interesting.” She paused, taking a slow sip of her whiskey. "I’m with Sterling & Croft now. Corporate law."
Sterling & Croft. One of the most prestigious law firms in London. Aurora could practically feel the weight of the difference between their lives pressing down on her.
“That’s… impressive,” she managed.
“It pays the bills,” Elara said, her tone almost dismissive. “And it’s… stable.”
There was a sharp edge to her voice, a hint of something beneath the polished surface. Aurora wondered what had driven Elara to trade poetry and passionate debate for corporate stability.
"You seem to have done alright for yourself," Aurora said, attempting a light tone, but feeling the words come out strained.
Elara tilted her head, studying her. The brief flash of recognition was gone , replaced by a careful neutrality. “One does what one must.” She took another sip of whiskey. “And you? Still living above Silas’ bar?”
The question, subtly barbed, stung more than Aurora would have liked. She felt her cheeks flush. “It's convenient. And cheap.” She added, a little too defensively.
"Convenient," Elara echoed , the word hanging in the air between them. A long silence stretched, punctuated by the clinking of ice and the murmur of voices from other tables.
"Remember that trip we took to Brighton?" Aurora asked, desperate to break the tension . "The one where we got caught in that torrential rain and had to share a tiny, overpriced hotel room?"
A ghost of a smile touched Elara 's lips. “How could I forget? You were convinced the seagulls were plotting against us.”
Aurora laughed, a genuine, warm sound that felt alien in the charged atmosphere. “They were probably right.”
The moment of shared memory, brief as it was, seemed to soften Elara 's features. But it was quickly replaced by a shadow of something deeper, something melancholic.
“Things change, Rory,” Elara said quietly, her gaze dropping to her glass. “People change. Sometimes, for the better. Sometimes…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. Aurora understood. There was a regret buried beneath the designer suit and the carefully constructed facade . A regret for the girl who had once been, for the dreams that had been abandoned , for the choices that had led her down this path.
Aurora felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name . Pity? Envy? Perhaps a little bit of both. She thought of Evan, her abusive ex, and the desperate flight to London. She thought of the safety she'd carved out for herself, the quiet anonymity of delivering food. Was it a life of fulfillment? No. But it was hers. She had built it, brick by painstaking brick, free from the wreckage of the past.
“I’m glad you’re doing well, Elara ,” Aurora said, her voice sincere .
Elara lifted her head, her expression unreadable . “And I you, Rory. Though I suspect your definition of ‘well’ and mine might be considerably different.” She finished her whiskey in one smooth swallow. “I should be going. A meeting across town.” She glanced at Silas. “Keep the change.”
She turned and walked back towards the door, her heels clicking a sharp rhythm against the floorboards. As she reached the doorway, she paused, looking back at Aurora one last time. The fleeting smile was gone , replaced by a cool, professional mask.
“Take care, Rory,” she said, her voice devoid of warmth .
Then, she was gone . The bell above the door tinkled softly , a fragile sound swallowed by the London rain.
Aurora stared at the empty doorway, her coffee growing cold in her hand. Silas watched her, his hazel eyes filled with a quiet understanding.
“She seemed…a bit sad,” he observed quietly.
Aurora shrugged, attempting to dismiss the unsettling encounter . “We all have our regrets, Silas.” She looked around the dimly-lit bar, the maps and photographs seeming to press in on her. “Some just cost more than others.”