AI Rain lashed against the leaded glass of The Raven’s Nest, blurring the streetlights of Soho into long, amber streaks. Inside, the tavern smelled of spilled stout, pipe smoke, and the wet wool of rain-soaked coats.
Aurora leaned against the worn mahogany counter, tracing a circle in the condensation on her pint glass. Her pale thumb hooked into the cuff of her sweater, covering the crescent-shaped mark on her left wrist. Five years since she stepped off the morning train from Cardiff with forty pounds in her pocket and a bruised collarbone. Five years of working double shifts at the Golden Empress, dodging her father’s frantic phone calls, and sleeping in the cramped studio flat above this very taproom.
The brass bell attached to the heavy oak front door chimed. Cold air swept through the room, snapping the fire in the brick hearth.
Aurora glanced up, expectantly scanning for Silas to return with the rest of the inventory ledger. Instead, her eyes caught on the silhouette standing in the doorway.
The woman shook out an umbrella with a sharp, practiced flick of her wrist. She wore an ivory cashmere coat that caught the low amber light of the chandelier, tailored so sharply it seemed to cut through the tavern's dim haze. Her blonde hair fell in severe, lacquered waves over one shoulder.
Aurora stopped breathing. The pint glass slipped an inch in her grip.
"Eva?"
The woman turned. Her tailored shoulders stiffened before a smooth, rehearsed smile slid into place. She stepped over the threshold, heels clicking against the sawdust-dusted floorboards with terrifying precision. She looked at Aurora's faded denim jacket, the faint yellow grease stain near the pocket from the restaurant's kitchen, and the dark circles smudged beneath her bright blue eyes.
"Rory." Eva’s voice was lower than Aurora remembered, devoid of the high, bubbling laughter that used to echo off the stone walls of their Cardiff dorm room. "Good god. It really is you."
"What are you doing here?" Aurora wiped her damp palm on her jeans, stepping back from the bar. "This place isn't... you don't come to Soho."
"A client meeting ran late at the firm on Greek Street." Eva gestured vaguely toward the window, her gold bracelets clinking together like tiny coins. "I needed a drink while I waited for my driver. The neon sign was bright."
"The green neon." Aurora gestured toward the window . "Yeah. Silas keeps it on."
Eva slid onto a high oak stool, her coat parting to reveal a silk blouse the color of crushed pearls. She didn't hug Aurora. She didn't lean in. She simply sat, occupying the space with an effortless , cool authority that made Aurora’s ribs ache.
"I'll have a gin and tonic," Eva said. "Hendrick’s, if you have it."
"We have Gordon's. Or whatever Silas distills in the tub upstairs when he thinks no one is looking." Aurora reached under the bar, grabbing a clean glass. Her hands shook, just a fraction, so she pinned her elbow against her ribcage. "Gordon's it is."
She poured the shot, the clear liquor sloshing against the rim. She slid the glass across the counter.
Eva picked it up, taking a measured sip without wincing. "Still making terrible split-second decisions, I see."
"I work here, Eva. It's a job."
"You were going to be a barrister, Rory. Your father had the chamber lined up."
"My father had my entire life lined up. Including who I spoke to, how I sat, and who I let touch me." Aurora leaned her forearms on the bar, staring directly into the cool grey eyes that used to belong to her best friend. "You helped me pack my bags, remember? You bought my ticket at Queen Street station."
"I gave you two hundred pounds and told you to hide for a month," Eva corrected softly . She set the gin down, the heavy glass striking the wood with a dull thud. "I didn't expect you to scrub floors in Soho for half a decade while your life decayed."
"I don't scrub floors. I deliver food. And I sleep without looking over my shoulder." Aurora picked up a bar rag, twisting the damp fabric until her knuckles turned white . "What happened to you, Ev? You look like a photograph in a magazine."
Eva let out a quiet, breathy laugh that lacked any real heat. "I grew up. Someone had to."
"You used to sleep in your paint-splattered overalls," Aurora said. "You used to steal my clothes and cry when the rain ruined your sketches."
"I burned those sketches."
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, competing with the soft jazz playing from the old valve radio near the taps.
"You burned them?"
"They didn't pay the rent on my flat in Kensington," Eva said, resting her manicured chin in her palm. "Art is a luxury for people who don't care about starving. I took a paralegal job at Sterling & Vance. Then I made partner."
"You went into law?" Aurora stared, the rag falling limp in her hand . "You hated the law. You told me my father's friends were parasites."
"Your father’s friends bought my first apartment, Rory." Eva picked up her drink again, turning the glass slowly in her hand. "Or rather, their firm did. The work is clean. The money is absurd. And nobody hurts me."
The last words hung in the air , weighted with a sharp, jagged truth.
Aurora looked down at her wrists. The small crescent scar caught the bar's warm light. Eva had been in the bathroom of that Cardiff apartment the night Evan threw the glass bottle against the doorframe. Eva had held the ice pack to Aurora's face while they waited for the bleeding to stop.
"Evan came looking for you," Eva said quietly. "Six months after you left."
Aurora's spine snapped straight. "What?"
"He came to my studio. He was drunk. He thought I knew where you were." Eva reached into her leather handbag, pulled out a silver cigarette case, then paused, looking at the *No Smoking * sign nailed to the brick wall. She snapped the case shut with a sharp crack. "He broke my easel, Rory."
Aurora’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"I didn't tell him a thing," Eva continued, her voice flat, devoid of emotion . "Not because I was protecting you. But because I realized, watching him tear through my canvas, that you left me behind to clean up the wreck."
"I had to run, Eva. He would have killed me."
"I know." Eva looked at her, really looked at her, eyes scanning the worn sweater, the unstyled black hair falling around Aurora's shoulders, the exhaustion carved into her jawline. "I didn't blame you for running. I blamed you for never calling. I waited by the phone for two years. You vanished into the fog and left me holding the bag with your family, with him, with everyone."
"I was trying to protect you."
"You were coward," Eva spat gently . The word hit harder for its lack of volume. "You were terrified, and so you hid. And you're still hiding."
Silas emerged from the back room, his left leg dragging slightly against the floorboards. He stopped at the end of the counter, his hazel eyes flickering from Eva’s high-end coat to Aurora’s rigid posture. His grey-streaked eyebrow twitched, reading the atmospheric pressure in the room in a second flat.
"Everything alright here, Rory?" Silas asked, his voice a low rumble . He adjusted his signet ring with his thumb.
"Fine, Silas," Aurora murmured without looking at him. "Just catching up with an old acquaintance."
Silas nodded slowly , picking up a tray of clean glasses. "Right then. I'll be downstairs sorting the casks." He gave Eva a long, assessing look before disappearing back down the wooden steps, his limp creating an uneven rhythm that faded into the cellar.
Eva watched him leave. "Interesting boss."
"He's good to me," Aurora said defendly.
"He's an old man in a dying pub." Eva reached into her coat, pulling out a slim black leather wallet. She extracted a fifty-pound note and laid it flat on the mahogany counter between them. "I have to go. My driver just pulled up."
Aurora looked at the crisp paper note. "The drink is three pounds."
"Keep the change, Rory. Buy yourself a sweater that doesn't have holes in the elbows."
Eva stood up, smoothing the front of her ivory coat. She picked up her umbrella, her hand hovering over the handle. For a fraction of a second, the polished facade cracked. Her eyes softened, catching Aurora's bright blue gaze, and for a heartbeat, the girl from Cardiff—the one who used to drink cheap cider on the bay and dream of Paris—was there behind the glass.
"I loved you, you know," Eva whispered. "You were my sister."
"Eva, wait—"
"Don't." Eva pulled her gloves on, her posture rigid once more. "We're different people now. Time did its job."
She turned on her heel and pushed through the heavy oak door. The bell chimed, a bright, lonely sound. Cold rain swept into the entryway before the door clicked shut, leaving only the smell of wet pavement and expensive perfume lingering in the warm draft.
Aurora stood behind the bar, her fingers resting on the crisp edges of the fifty-pound note. Outside, the red taillights of a black saloon car illuminated the sheets of falling rain before disappearing down Greek Street, swallowed whole by the London night.