AI The empty pint glass slipped from her grip, clattering against the polished oak counter. Rory flinched, a sharp, almost electrical jolt shooting up her arm. The sound wasn't loud, not in the low rumble of The Raven's Nest on a Tuesday night, but it grated all the same. She blamed the lingering chill that clung to her bones, a souvenir from another late delivery run through the city’s damp labyrinth.
"Careful, love." Silas appeared from the shadows, a linen cloth draped over his arm. He moved with a quiet, almost spectral grace, despite the slight limp in his left leg. His hazel eyes, usually warm, held a glint of something sharper, assessing the few patrons scattered across the bar. "Don't want to startle the ghosts."
"No ghosts tonight, Silas. Just my own knackered old self." Rory forced a smile, tucking a stray strand of shoulder-length black hair behind her ear. Her bright blue eyes scanned the room, settling on the green neon sign above the entrance, its glow softened by the lingering cigarette smoke that clung to the air despite the extractor fan’s efforts.
A woman walked in then, silencing the murmur of conversation near the dartboard. Her heels clicked a precise rhythm on the wooden floorboards, each step deliberate, annunciating her presence. Rory froze, pint glass forgotten. The woman moved, not scanning the room like a new arrival, but with the assured gait of someone who already knew precisely where they aimed to be. Her expensive, tailored anthracite blazer hugged a frame that had once been familiar , now sharpened, honed. The loose, wavy blonde hair was new, a dramatic shift from the tight, dark curls Rory remembered. Yet the set of the jaw, that slight tilt of the head, was unmistakable. Eva.
Eva stopped at the far end of the bar, away from the scattered groups, her back to Rory. She ordered a dry gin martini, specifying the brand of gin, the exact twist of lemon, the temperature of the glass itself. Her voice, deeper than Rory remembered, carried an edge of unyielding command.
Silas, taking the order, shot a quick, curious glance at Rory. Rory felt the blood drain from her face, leaving a cold expanse. She tried to steady her breathing, felt the faint crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist throb . A childhood accident, a forgotten memory until now, suddenly pulled to the surface by the sheer, improbable presence of this woman.
"Whisky for me, Silas," Rory managed, her voice a little higher than usual . "The usual."
Silas nodded, his gaze unwavering . He moved fluidly between them, a silent conduit of impending collision.
Eva turned then, her gaze sweeping over the bar, finally landing on Rory. Recognition flickered in her dark eyes, a brief, startling jolt before being replaced by a cool, unreadable mask. A slow, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
"Rory? Is that really you?" Her voice, closer now, possessed a new clarity, stripped of the Cardiff lilt Rory remembered.
"Eva." The name felt foreign, heavy on Rory's tongue. "I... I hardly recognised you."
Eva laughed, a light, brittle sound that echoed unnaturally in the cosy confines of the Nest. "Years, darling. They do things to a person." She shifted, leaning slightly against the bar, her posture radiating an untouchable poise. "You look..." She paused, her eyes tracing a path over Rory's work clothes, the smudges of London grime on her delivery jacket. "...well. Very well."
The martini arrived, a crystalline fortress in Eva's manicured hand. She took a slow sip, her gaze never leaving Rory. "Still pulling pints, then?"
"Sometimes. Mostly delivering for Yu-Fei. Keeps me busy." Rory's default defence mechanism kicked in: deflection, brevity. "You, though. You look... entirely different. What brings you to this part of town?"
"Business." Eva’s single word hung in the air , dense with unsaid implications. "A minor acquisition. Nothing exciting." She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow . "Still in London, then. I assumed you'd have returned to Cardiff by now. Given..." She let the sentence trail off, a deliberate, calculated silence .
Rory gripped the edge of the bar, her knuckles white. "Cardiff isn't for everyone. London has... opportunities."
"Indeed it does." Eva took another deliberate sip of her drink. Her eyes, once warm with shared youthful dreams, now held a detached clinical appraisal. "Heard you were doing something with law. Pre-Law, wasn't it?"
"Plans change."
"They do." Eva chuckled, a dry rustle of sound. "Especially when certain... complications arise. Evan, for instance."
A cold spike drove through Rory's chest. She met Eva's gaze, trying to project indifference, a strength she suddenly didn't feel. "He's ancient history."
"Is he?" Eva's smile widened, a predatory flash. "Or is he the reason you ran so far, so fast? A bit unlike you, Rory. Always the one to face things head-on."
"Some things aren't worth facing head-on, Eva." Rory’s voice was sharper now, the cool-headed facade beginning to crack. "Some things are best left buried."
Silas, polishing a shot glass, cleared his throat softly . The sound was a warning, a subtle intervention. Eva’s gaze flickered to him, a brief, assessing appraisal, then returned to Rory.
"Always the pragmatist." Eva set her martini down, the glass humming against the wood. "I remember when you said London would fix everything. Said you'd rise above it all. Here you are. Delivering takeaways. Living above a pub." Her words were soft, yet each one landed like a physical blow.
"And you?" Rory shot back, her breath catching in her throat . "What are you doing? Dressed like that, talking like this. This isn't the Eva I knew. The one who hated anything... 'corporate' or 'soulless', as you called it."
Eva leaned closer across the bar, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper , though no one else in the bar seemed to notice. "That Eva was a child, Rory. A naïve girl who believed in things like 'truth' and 'justice'. You, of all people, should understand how quickly those dreams turn to ash." A corner of Eva’s mouth twitched. "Evan taught us both that, didn't he?"
The air around them thickened, charged with the ghost of unhealed wounds. Rory tried to speak, but her throat felt suddenly constricted. The memory of Evan, the bruises she had hidden, the quiet terror, flashed behind her eyes. Eva had known, had been the one to urge her to leave Cardiff. And now, she wielded that shared pain like a weapon.
"What do you want, Eva?" Rory asked, her voice barely a whisper . "Why are you here?"
Eva picked up her martini, swirled the liquid, and took a slow, theatrical sip. Her eyes glittered over the rim of the glass. "Perhaps I just want to catch up, Rory. See how my old friend is doing. Or perhaps..." She paused, letting the silence stretch, heavy and suffocating. "Perhaps I need someone. Someone clever. Someone discreet. Someone who knows what it feels like to be trapped and desperate enough to do anything to escape."
Rory stared at her , the dark implications of Eva’s words settling like a shroud. This wasn't friendly banter. This was a proposition, a threat veiled in the guise of an olive branch. The quiet authority Eva now carried wasn't just sophistication; it was something colder, something dangerous.
"What kind of 'anything,' Eva?" Rory asked, dread blooming in her gut . She already knew the answer. The way Eva had entered, the way she spoke, the way she looked at Silas, the way she looked at *her *. This was a different game entirely.
Eva’s smile finally softened, a chilling mimicry of their shared past. "Oh, the usual, darling. Favours. Information. Things that can't be found in polite society." Her gaze flicked to Silas, who stood motionless, watching them from the corner of his eye. "Things that a certain type of establishment excels at." She took a gulp of her martini, emptying the glass. "What say you, Rory? Still think you can run from your past, or ready to finally use it?" She pushed the empty glass across the bar, the sound sharp, final. "Or perhaps you'd prefer to just keep pouring drinks for strangers in a forgotten corner of Soho, waiting for the next nasty surprise Evan sends your way?"
A cold tremor ran through Rory. Eva knew. She knew about Evan, knew about the occasional, terrifying postcards, the anonymous threats. She hadn't just 'assumed' Rory was back in Cardiff; she knew Rory was still hiding. It changed everything. Rory's breath hitched, her eyes wide as a new, stark reality settled over her : Eva wasn't here by chance. And she wasn't asking . She was giving an ultimatum.