AI Another one of yours, Silas?" Rory held up the chipped mug. Coffee grounds clung to the rim like barnacles, refusing to yield to the sponge. "Did you excavate this from a Roman dig?"
"Sentimental value." Silas, perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, polished a tumbler with meticulous care. His silver signet ring gleamed faintly under the low lights. "Don't ask." He set the glass down with a soft *thunk *, its surface refracting the green neon glow from the sign outside.
"Every week, sentimentality costs me elbow grease." Rory tossed the mug into the industrial sink. The metal clanged. She wiped her hands on a clean cloth, the scent of antiseptic lingering on her skin. The Raven’s Nest had always been her sanctuary , a quiet harbour after the day's deliveries, its walls covered with ancient, unfurling maps and black-and-white photographs of forgotten faces.
A gust of London night air, thick with exhaust fumes and damp pavement, swept through the suddenly opened door. Rory glanced up, expecting another late regular, perhaps even a delivery for Yu-Fei Cheung's, but the figure silhouetted against the streetlights brought her to a sudden, rigid halt.
"Rory? Is that really you?"
The voice, a familiar lilt , was thicker now, coarser around the edges, but undeniably hers. Eva. Rory felt a hollow thrum behind her ribs. The woman stepping inside wore a too-tight crimson dress that left little to the imagination and cheap, cloying floral perfume that seemed to precede her, overwhelming the subtle woodsmoke and whisky of the Nest . Her hair, once a vibrant ginger, was now a brassy blonde, expertly teased and lacquered into an unmoving helmet. Her face was sharper, thinner, framed by heavy, smudged eyeliner and lips painted a startling fuchsia.
"Eva?" Rory's own voice felt foreign, a whisper trapped in her throat.
Eva’s smile was too wide, too eager. It didn't quite reach the flat, shadowed expanse of her eyes . "I knew it! Knew I recognised that scowl from a mile away." She laughed, a brittle sound that grated against the warm murmur of the bar. "What are you doing in London, pet? Last I heard, you were holed up in some Welsh cave, hiding from the boogeyman."
The 'boogeyman' in question had a name: Evan. And Eva had been the one to insist Rory flee, to leave everything behind. The irony burned.
"I live here." Rory gestured vaguely at the ceiling. "Above the bar." She looked to Silas, a silent plea in her bright blue eyes. He offered nothing, simply continuing his meticulous work on the glasses, a silent, unreadable sentinel .
"Fancy that." Eva sauntered up to the bar, her high heels clicking a restless rhythm on the polished floorboards. "Moved up in the world, eh? From Cardiff council estates to… SoHo. Who'd have thought?" She leaned over the bar, her gaze sweeping over Rory, assessing, dissecting. "You look... different."
"Time does that." Rory forced a neutral tone . "You too."
Eva chuckled, running a lacquered nail along the scarred oak. "Suppose so. Life hits you hard, doesn't it? Knocks the soft edges off." She gestured to Silas. "Two whiskies. Top shelf. On me. For old times' sake."
Silas merely raised an eyebrow . "Aurora's on duty, I'm afraid."
"Nah, it's fine, Silas." Rory cut in, a muscle twitching in her jaw. She didn't want Eva to see her as waiting tables, not after everything. "I'm just tidying up." She poured two generous measures of a smoky single malt into heavy tumblers. The liquid shimmered gold.
"That's the spirit!" Eva grabbed a glass, taking a large, unladylike gulp. She winced, then smiled, a hint of defiance in the gesture. "Proper stuff. Always knew you had good taste, Rory. Even when you were chasing after that… wet noodle."
"Evan." The name felt like a stone in Rory’s mouth.
"That's the one." Eva waved her hand dismissively . "God, what did you ever see in him? A waste of space. Good thing you ran, eh? Best thing you ever did." Her eyes, however, didn’t hold agreement. They held a strange mix of accusation and something more calculating .
"You said it was." Rory's gaze was steady, unwavering . "You were right."
"Always am." Eva took another gulp, the ice clinking loudly. "So, what's a smart girl like you doing in a place like this? Still running, I suppose? From what, this time? Another abusive boyfriend? Don't tell me you picked another dud."
Rory’s hand tightened on the rag. "I'm not running from anyone. I'm building something."
"Building what? A pile of dirty dishes?" Eva laughed, louder this time. A few patrons glanced over. "Come on, Rory. The smart one, the one who was meant for bigger things. Barrister, wasn't it? Pre-Law at Cardiff Uni, little Miss Perfect. And here you are." She gestured around the dimly lit bar. "Serving drinks."
"I make my own choices." The words were flat, devoid of emotion. "What about you? Still in Cardiff?"
A flicker of something dark crossed Eva’s face, quickly masked by a bright, false cheer. "Oh, you know me. Never could stay in one place for long. Bit of this, bit of that. Life’s an adventure, isn't it?" Her eyes darted towards the hidden bookshelf in the back, the one leading to Silas's secret room. "Looks like you picked up a few interesting habits, though. Friend of Silas Blackwood, hmm? That's quite the upgrade from your old crowd."
"Silas is a friend. He gave me a place to stay." Rory felt a prickle of unease. Eva’s questions were too pointed, her observations too sharp. She knew about Silas, or at least his reputation.
"A place to stay." Eva nodded slowly , a predatory glint in her eyes. "Heard about Silas. Bit of a legend in certain circles. Old school. Keeps his secrets close. Just like you, eh?" She leaned forward conspiratorially, her perfume assaulting Rory's senses. "Though I remember a time when you couldn’t keep a secret for the life of you. Especially from me."
The unspoken accusation hung between them: *You changed *. And beneath that: *You left me behind *.
"People change, Eva." Rory picked up the second whisky, her fingers closing around the cold glass. She didn't drink much these days, especially not during her rare moments of peace. But tonight, she felt a sudden, desperate need for the burn.
"They do." Eva reached across the bar, her fingertips sticky and cold as they grazed Rory's wrist. "You got a scar." Her nail, chipped scarlet, traced the faint crescent shape on Rory's left wrist. "Forgot about that. Remember falling out of that old oak tree? Said you were a cat. Always landed on your feet, you did."
The memory, so vivid and distant, was a dull ache. Rory pulled her hand back, the touch unwelcome. "Some things you never forget."
"No point in remembering the bad stuff, though, is there?" Eva’s smile thinned. "Or the good stuff, if it turns sour. Like old friendships."
"Is that why you're here, Eva? To reminisce?" Rory's voice was low, edged with a steel Eva might not recognise from their youth.
Eva drained her glass, slamming it down with a definite *thud *. "No, pet. Not exactly. I heard things. About you. About your… connections." She glanced at Silas, who remained impassive. "And I thought, well, a favour . For old times' sake. You owe me."
Rory's jaw tightened. "I owe you nothing."
"Oh?" Eva raised an eyebrow , a flicker of genuine malice igniting her eyes. "Who told you to pack your bags and get out of Cardiff before that psycho Evan did more than just break a few of your precious belongings? Who called every single cheap B&B in London until they found you a room? Who covered your tracks when your family started asking questions? You'd be back under his thumb, locked in that flat, if it wasn't for me, Rory. Don't you forget it."
The words struck Rory deep, hitting a nerve she thought long-healed. Eva's voice had lost its playful veneer, replaced by a harsh, grating edge. It was the voice of the streets, of desperation and cunning that Rory had deliberately left behind.
"What do you want?" Rory asked, her voice quiet but firm as she met Eva's gaze head-on.
"Just a little help." Eva’s eyes glittered. "I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a pickle. Nothing you can't handle. Not with your new… friends." She leaned closer, her breath smelling of whisky and something else, something metallic and faintly foul beneath the perfume. "There's a name going around. Someone who knows things. Too many things. And he's got something that belongs to me. A ledger." Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper . "And I need you to get it back." She held Rory's stare. "Tonight."