AI The rain hammered against the windows of The Raven’s Nest, a steady, insistent drumming that mirrored the pulse in my temples. The air hung thick with the scent of stale beer, woodsmoke, and something vaguely floral, an attempt at masking the decades clinging to the walls. I’d been nursing a scotch, watching the blurry figures navigate the low-lit space, when he appeared.
Not a sudden, dramatic entrance. Just… there. Standing beside my table, a silhouette against the gloom , a familiar shape resolving into the broad shoulders and receding hairline of Evan. He hadn't aged well. The sharp angles of his face had softened, blurred around the edges, and the expensive tailoring strained across a frame that looked heavier, slower.
He wasn’t smiling.
“Rory,” he said, his voice a low rasp, like gravel rolling over stone.
I took a slow sip of my scotch, the burn a small comfort. “Evan.” The word felt foreign on my tongue, a fossil unearthed from a forgotten excavation.
He didn’t move, just watched me with an unsettling intensity . His hazel eyes, the same shade as Silas’s, held a depth I hadn’t anticipated – a brittle stillness that spoke of a thousand unspoken regrets. The silver signet ring on his right hand gleamed faintly in the dim light, a silent testament to a life lived meticulously, carefully constructed .
“It’s been a while,” he finally said, the phrase sounding flat, devoid of genuine feeling.
“Ten years, three months, and sixteen days,” I replied, deliberately precise . It felt necessary to quantify the distance between us, to make the silence less…threatening.
He shifted his weight, the slight limp in his left leg betraying a vulnerability he’d obviously worked hard to conceal. “You look…different.”
“So do you,” I countered, gesturing vaguely around him. “More…burdened.”
The rain intensified, a cascade against the glass. I finished my scotch, placing the empty glass on the table with a quiet scrape. “What brings you here, Evan? I thought you were…investing in a vineyard in Tuscany.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, quickly extinguished. “Business. Always business. It suits me.”
“Does it?” I leaned back in my chair, studying him closely. He looked like a man wearing a suit that didn’t quite fit, a facade struggling to contain the shadows beneath . “You seem…removed.”
“Some things change, Rory,” he said, his gaze fixed on the rain. “People change.”
“Some things don’t,” I pressed, the words coming out before I could fully process them. “Like the way you held me. Like the way you…promised.”
The air thickened, charged with a static electricity that prickled my skin. He didn't turn to face me. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t dredge this up. It was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I laughed, a short, brittle sound that seemed to echo in the confined space . “Leaving Cardiff? Running across the Channel? Abandoning everything because you told me you loved me, because you said you wanted to build a life with me? That was a mistake, Evan? You shattered my life.”
He finally turned then, his eyes dark and guarded. “You were young. Impulsive. You needed to escape.”
“I needed you,” I said, the words raw and painful. “I genuinely needed you. And you gave me a beautiful lie.”
A pause stretched between us, long and heavy. The only sound was the relentless rain and the murmur of voices from the bar. I watched him closely, searching for a flicker of the man I remembered, the one who had once held a fierce, almost unsettling intensity in his gaze. But it was gone , replaced by a carefully constructed mask of indifference .
“I…I sent you money,” he offered, the words sounding apologetic, hollow . “Over the years. Enough to…start over.”
“Money isn’t a substitute for a life, Evan,” I said, my voice low and steady . “It doesn't erase the scars.” I touched the crescent-shaped scar on my wrist, a constant reminder of a childhood accident, a small, tangible piece of my past. “This,” I indicated the scar, “is a reminder . You gave me a wound that never truly healed.”
He shifted again, his fingers tightening around the signet ring. “I thought I was protecting you. From me.”
“Protecting me?” I tilted my head, studying his expression. “By leaving me to drown in a city I didn’t know, to rebuild my life with no resources, no support, just the ghost of a broken promise?”
“It was complicated,” he mumbled, avoiding my gaze.
“Complicated?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow . "Leaving a woman heartbroken is complicated?"
“My work…it required discretion,” he said, his voice clipped . “Things I couldn’t explain.”
“So you traded my happiness for your secrets,” I finished for him. “How selfless.”
The silence returned, heavier than before. Silas appeared from behind the bar, his face impassive as ever. He placed a fresh glass of scotch in front of me without a word.
“You’ve changed,” Evan observed, stating the obvious. “You look…capable.”
“I deliver packages,” I replied, offering a wry smile. “It keeps me busy. Pays the rent.” The work was honest, unglamorous, a deliberate rejection of the life I’d once envisioned.
“You could have had a different life,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper . “A better life.”
“And you would have built that different life for me?” I asked, my voice laced with skepticism. “Or would you have continued to build your own, leaving me as an afterthought?”
He didn’t answer. He simply stared at his glass, swirling the amber liquid as if searching for an escape .
“I don't understand why you’re here, Evan,” I said, the words tinged with a weary sadness . “Unless you’re looking for absolution. You’re not going to find it here.”
He finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine with a fleeting intensity . “It’s…complicated,” he repeated, the words sounding even more defeated than before . “There are things you don't know.”
“I know you lied,” I said, my voice firm . “I know you broke my trust. And honestly, Evan, that’s all I need to know.”
He reached for his glass, taking a long, slow sip. The rain continued to fall, washing over the windows of The Raven’s Nest, blurring the edges of the room, obscuring the truth.
“Don’t think this is over,” he said, his voice low and menacing . “It’s not.”
I didn’t reply. I simply watched him, a cold certainty settling over me. Some things, I realized, never truly end.
He drained his glass, placed it on the table, and stood up. He didn't offer a goodbye, a farewell, just turned and walked out into the rain, disappearing into the shadows of Soho.
I watched him go, the echo of his footsteps fading into the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Silas placed a small bottle of dark rum on the table beside my glass.
“Another one?” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion .
“Please,” I said, accepting the bottle. I took a long, deliberate sip of the rum, the fiery liquid burning a welcome path down my throat. The rain continued to fall, a relentless, cleansing torrent.
“He’s a dangerous man,” Silas said, after a moment of silence .
“I know,” I replied, swirling the rum in my glass. “But he’s also a ghost. And ghosts,” I added, looking towards the rain-streaked windows, “are often the most persistent.”