Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9XCDHV59ZWSRFB1JDY636

The green neon sign of The Raven’s Nest cast a sickly glow against the wet Soho pavement. Rain slicked the black coat of Aurora Carter as she pushed through the door, the scent of stale beer and something vaguely floral hitting her immediately. She shook the droplets from her hair, the black strands clinging to her shoulders. Silas wasn't behind the bar tonight; a younger man, all sharp angles and nervous energy, wiped glasses. Good. She wasn’t in the mood for questions. She needed a drink. A strong one. The delivery route had been brutal—a penthouse in Knightsbridge with a resident who tipped in condescension, a flat in Mayfair smelling of old money and regret, and finally, a shouting match over lukewarm noodles in Camden Town. She settled onto a worn leather stool, the cushion groaning under her weight. “Whiskey, neat,” she told the bartender. He poured without comment, sliding the glass across the polished wood. A figure shifted in the periphery, a shadow detaching itself from the gloom near the dartboard. Rory's hand stilled halfway to the glass. It couldn’t be. “Rory?” The voice was raspy, roughened by years and something else she couldn't place. She turned, and her breath hitched. Evan. He was…different. Gone was the polished university student with the easy smile. This Evan was all hard lines and haunted eyes. His jaw was covered in a scrubby beard, streaked with grey. He’d lost weight, the expensive clothes replaced with a worn leather jacket and jeans. There was a network of fine scars around his eyes. He hadn't met her gaze. “Fancy meeting you here.” Her voice came out sharper than she intended. She took a long swallow of whiskey, the burn doing little to thaw the ice forming in her chest. He finally lifted his head, his gaze locking onto hers. The bright green of his eyes seemed faded. “Small world, I guess.” “You ‘guess’?” She raised an eyebrow. “Last I heard, you were building a life in finance, not…haunting Soho pubs.” A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. "The world has a funny way of redrawing your plans.” He ambled over, pulling up a stool a few seats down. “You haven’t changed much.” “Don’t lie.” He flinched, a barely perceptible tightening around his mouth. “Okay, fair enough. You always were brutally honest.” He ran a hand through his hair—dark, but flecked with silver at the temples. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Still doing deliveries?” “Pays the rent.” She kept her voice level, refusing to give him any purchase. “Silas still own the place?” “He does. Though he’s…occupied at the moment.” Evan waved a vague hand. “Overseas business, he said.” “Of course he is.” Rory knew Silas. ‘Overseas business’ usually meant tangled webs of intrigue and shadowy deals. She wondered what he was mixed up in now. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You look…good, Rory. Healthy.” "I am healthy." She met his gaze, refusing to let him see any weakness. "What about you, Evan? You look like you've been through a war." He glanced down at his hands, flexing them slowly. "Something like that." “Something like that?” She scoffed. “That’s all you’re offering? After…everything?” The bartender cleared his throat pointedly. Rory ignored him. “I don’t want to rehash old history, Rory.” “Oh, I’m sorry. Is it too painful to remember the exciting tales of your past?” The words dripped with sarcasm. He gripped the bar, his knuckles white. “Don't.” “Don’t what? Don’t remind you of how you treated me? How you made my life miserable?” “That’s not fair.” He looked genuinely pained, and for a fleeting moment, Rory almost felt a flicker of sympathy. Almost. “Fair? You want to talk about fair? You disappeared, Evan. You ghosted me after…after everything, and now you show up here, looking like a refugee, and you want it to just be…water under the bridge?” “I needed to get away.” "From what? From facing the consequences of your actions?” She picked at the label on her glass. The whiskey suddenly tasted like ash. He hesitated. "I got involved in something. A bad situation.” “Oh, a bad situation? Is that what we’re calling it now? You were reckless, Evan. You always were. Chasing thrills, taking risks, never thinking about who you were hurting in the process.” He looked away, his gaze settling on a chipped dartboard. “I made mistakes.” “Mistakes?” Rory laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. “You nearly destroyed me. You made me question my own sanity. And you call that a mistake?” A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the murmur of voices and the clink of glasses. “I tried to find you, you know.” “Tried?” She raised her head, a spark of disbelief flickering in her eyes. “You ‘tried’? A few unanswered calls and texts is ‘trying’?” “It wasn’t that simple. Things were…complicated.” “Complicated? What could possibly be more complicated than just saying you were sorry?” He finally met her gaze again, and Rory saw something there that she hadn’t expected: raw, unadulterated regret. It didn’t excuse anything, but it was…something. “I was wrong, Rory. About everything. I treated you terribly, and I’ve been living with that every day since.” She stared at him, searching for any trace of the man she once knew. He was a stranger, irrevocably changed, marked by an unseen weight. “It’s too late, Evan.” “Maybe.” He traced the rim of his empty glass. “But I needed to say it. I needed you to know.” A man detached himself from the shadows near the back, wearing a tailored suit. He walked with a deliberate pace straight towards Evan, and stopped beside him. A cold look in his eyes. “There you are. We were starting to think you’d decided to disappear again.” He spoke, never taking his eyes off Rory. Evan visibly stiffened. “Right. Excuse me, Rory.” He glanced at her, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. “I have to go.” He stood abruptly, knocking over his stool. He didn’t bother to pick it up. He turned towards the door, flanked by the man in the suit, and disappeared into the rainy night. Rory sat there, numb, staring at the space he’d occupied. The whiskey tasted even worse now. This wasn't closure. It was just…more questions, swirling in the hollow ache where trust used to be. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Silas, his hazel eyes filled with concern. “Rough encounter?”