AI The green neon sign hummed, casting a faint glow onto the wet pavement outside The Raven’s Nest. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of aged wood and stale hops, comforting and familiar . Rory ran a damp cloth across the polished bar, her movements economical, muscle memory guiding her hands. She hummed a low tune, a familiar melody picked up from the jukebox. Her straight shoulder-length black hair swayed rhythmically with her actions. Silas polished a tumbler behind the bar, his silver signet ring flashing under the dim lights as his wrist turned. He moved with a slight limp, his gaze distant.
The door swung inward, letting in a sudden gust of London chill and a blast of late-night street noise. Rory glanced up, expecting another regular, then froze. The smile she’d been cultivating for incoming patrons simply died.
A man stood framed in the doorway, a stranger to this place, yet painfully familiar to her. He wore a charcoal suit, expensive wool draped over a frame that had broadened, a subtle layer of adult weight smoothing out the sharp angles of his youth. His hair, once a shaggy mess, now lay impeccably styled, a sheen of product catching the light. Rory remembered it untamed, falling into eyes that held genuine mischief. His gaze swept the room, dismissive of the old maps and black-and-white photos until it landed on her. A slow, uncertain smile bloomed across his face, a movement that felt alien on his mouth.
“Rory?” The name, a half-whisper, cut through the quiet hum of the bar. It sounded distant, a ghost from another life.
Rory’s breath caught. Her hands tightened on the cloth. The crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, usually forgotten, suddenly felt a sharp awareness. “Liam.”
He strolled deeper into the room, his expensive leather shoes quiet on the worn floorboards. He carried himself with a new confidence, a measured stride that announced his arrival. His eyes, she saw now, held a hardness, a knowing glint that hadn’t been there before. He stopped a few feet from the bar, close enough for her to catch the expensive tang of his cologne, a sharp contrast to the earthy scents of the pub.
“It is you. I wasn’t sure. Heard you’d vanished.” He gestured vaguely, his hand sweeping towards the city beyond the bar’s walls. That gestured held a hint of judgment.
“I’m here.” She looked at him, truly looked, the boy from Cardiff replaced by this impeccably tailored man. His expression, once open, now shielded something.
“Here, in Soho. Running a bar?” He arched a dark brow, amusement playing on his lips, though his eyes remained unsmiling.
“I work here. Sometimes.” The words came out flat.
Silas, a silent sentinel , placed the polished tumbler upside down on the shelf. He looked at Rory, then at Liam, his hazel eyes unreadable . He remained quiet, letting the scene unfold.
Liam let out a soft laugh, a sound that grated. “Right. Not exactly Pre-Law at Cardiff, is it?” He pulled out a stool, the scrape of wood on wood loud in the sudden silence . “Pint of whatever’s strongest.”
Rory moved, the action stiff, pulling a fresh glass. “You still drink that cheap lager, then?” Her voice gained a sarcastic edge, a defensive shield.
He leaned forward on the bar, forearms neatly cuffed. A heavy silver watch glinted on his wrist. “Sometimes a man needs to remember his roots.” His eyes met hers, a complicated glint held within them. “Guess you’ve forgotten yours.”
She slammed the pint glass onto the counter. The stout flowed, a rich dark stream. “I remember plenty.” The image of dripping grey skies and endless university halls, the suffocating politeness of her parents’ home, and the chilling grip of Evan’s hand flashed through her mind.
“Do you?” Liam picked up the glass, took a long swallow, the foam clinging to his neat moustache. “Because last I heard, you’d packed a single bag and vanished. No note. No goodbye. Just… gone.” He spoke slowly , deliberately , each word a stone in a well.
“What was I supposed to say, Liam? ‘Sorry, heading to London to avoid a breakdown’?” She hated the tremor in her voice, the way his presence unravelled her carefully constructed composure. She tightened her grip on the cloth, knuckles white.
“A call might have been nice. Your parents were worried sick. Your mother, especially.” He took another drink, his gaze steady over the rim of the glass. “Still the same, then. Running when things get tough.”
Her bright blue eyes flashed. “Things got more than tough. They got dangerous.”
“Did they?” He put the glass down, a distinct challenge in the soft clink. “Or did you just get cold feet about getting serious? About Evan, about your degree, about… life.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her voice dropped to a low growl, her hands flexing.
Liam leaned back, a casual pose that felt entirely too calculated . “I think I do. I was there. We all were. You were so bright, Rory. So fierce. And then… you just broke.”
“I didn’t break. I survived.” She leaned across the bar, her face inches from his. “And what about you, Liam? Still chasing the ghost of your father’s approval? Still wearing that expensive suit he bought you?”
His smile vanished. A flicker of something cold, something she hadn’t seen in him before, crossed his face. “I built this, Rory. Every thread of this suit, every penny in my bank account. Nothing was given.” He tapped the watch. “And I didn’t run from anything. I stayed. I faced it.”
“You stayed in Cardiff. In that… suffocating little world.” She felt a renewed surge of the old resentment, the feeling of being trapped. Each word was a lash.
“It’s called loyalty. Commitment. Something you seemed to struggle with.” He picked up his pint again, his hand steady. “You know, Evan actually missed you. Even after everything. He tried for weeks.”
A cold dread seeped into Rory. Her scar pulsed faintly. “Don’t you dare.”
“He was lost without you. Said you were the only one who truly understood him.” Liam offered a brittle shrug, an infuriating mimicry of casual indifference . “Of course, he quickly moved on. Found someone else to replace you. Someone less prone to dramatics.”
Rory inhaled sharply , the sharp scent of stale beer suddenly cloying. She remembered the bruising grip, the shouting, the terror that had driven her across the country. Liam sat there, an embodiment of the past she had desperately tried to outrun, and he was rewriting it.
“You always did have a knack for twisting things.” Her voice was tight with suppressed fury. “He wasn’t lost. He was controlling. Abusive.” The words hung in the air , heavy and raw.
Liam’s expression remained infuriatingly neutral, a mask of polished disdain. “Such strong words, Rory. Always the dramatist. Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night? To justify abandoning everything?”
“I justified it by living. By breathing. By not being trapped in a life that suffocated me.” She grabbed a rag, scrubbing furiously at a nonexistent smudge on the counter. The rhythmic friction created a counterpoint to the racing beat of her heart.
“And this is living?” He gestured around the dimly lit bar, his eyes lingering on the old maps and faded photos. “This bohemian escape? You used to talk about the High Court, Rory. About making a real difference. Now you’re pouring pints in a back alley.”
“It’s honest work, Liam. And I make a difference in my own way.” Her gaze drifted to Silas, who now watched them openly, his calm presence a quiet anchor. “It’s more than you can say for the soulless corporate ladder you’ve undoubtedly climbed.”
He let out a short, sharp laugh, devoid of any real humor. “Spoken like a true romantic. Still dreaming, even after the world chewed you up and spat you out.” He took another long swig of his beer, the taste metallic on her own tongue just from watching him. “Funny, I thought you’d be past all that. I thought London would have hardened you.”
“London taught me what matters, Liam. And it’s not status or money or pretending the past away.” She met his gaze, her blue eyes unwavering . “It’s about protecting yourself. And those you care about.”
“Protecting yourself by vanishing? Sounds like a convenient excuse to me.” A sneer twisted his lips. “You know, it’s a shame. We all thought you had potential . Real potential .”
Potential. The word echoed from a lifetime ago, a heavy cloak draped over her shoulders. She had felt its weight , its promise, before everything unravelled.
“And what do you think I have now, Liam?” She pushed the last of her anger down, replacing it with a cold, almost detached curiosity. She wanted to see how far he would go.
He leaned back, assessing her, taking in her simple jeans, the practical trainers, sensing the lack of the corporate sheen he now wore like a second skin. “You’re different. Harder, yes. But… smaller.” He gestured to her, a dismissive flick of his wrist. “You used to fill a room, Rory. Command it. Now you blend into the shadows, a ghost of what you could have been.”
The insult landed with brutal precision, a direct hit to the lingering doubts she battled during sleepless nights. He saw her flight as defeat, her survival as shrinkage. She felt the bitter taste of unshed tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing him that victory.
“Maybe I just learned there are other ways to be big than making noise in a courtroom.” Her voice was quiet now, a steady rumble beneath the surface. “Maybe I found peace somewhere you can’t even imagine.”
He drained his pint, pushing the empty glass forward. “Peace, or just resignation?” Liam rose, grabbing his coat from the adjacent stool. The expensive fabric rustled. He moved towards the door, his movements sharp and precise.
“And you, Liam?” She watched him, a knot tightening in her stomach . “Have you found peace? Or just a bigger office?”
He paused at the threshold, the neon sign painting him in an eerie green glow for a moment. He didn't turn back, his shoulder a rigid line. “Some of us just get on with it, Rory. While others hide in the dark.”
The door swung shut behind him, cutting off his silhouette and returning the bar to its familiar , quiet hum. Rory stood gripping the bar, her knuckles white. The scent of his cologne lingered, a phantom reminder of a past that now felt impossibly distant, yet painfully present.