Run: 2026-09-03-01M1K9RZDT73M3WYNA8EXT618G

The glass in Rory's hand was still warm from the washer when the door swung open. Green neon from the sign outside bled across the floorboards and caught the edge of a woman's raincoat. She stood in the doorway, unbuttoning the coat with one hand, glancing at her phone with the other. Then she lifted her head. Rory's fingers tightened on the pint glass. "Megan." The name escaped before Rory could stop it. Megan Vaughan's eyes found her. Three years collapsed into a single blink. "Rory Carter." Megan's voice had a new edge, clipped and polished. "Of all the bars in London." She crossed the room. Her heels made small, precise sounds against the wood. The last time Rory had seen her, Megan had worn Doc Martens and a denim jacket with a CND badge on the lapel. "You look—" Megan stopped, tilted her head. "Different." "So do you." Megan laughed, a short exhale. "I'm a solicitor now. Corporate law. Mergers and acquisitions." She delivered the words like a confession. "They make me wear these." She gestured at her suit, charcoal grey, tailored. Rory set the glass down on the bar. "You always said you'd rather set yourself on fire than work for a corporation." "I also said I'd never leave Cardiff." Megan's mouth twitched. "Here I am." Silas emerged from the back room, wiping his hands on a towel. He glanced between them, said nothing, and began polishing a row of tumblers. The silver signet ring on his right hand caught the light. "What are you drinking?" Rory asked. "Gin and tonic. Double." Rory reached for the gin. "You hate gin." "I know." Megan slid onto a barstool. "I've become the kind of person who drinks gin." The tonic fizzed over ice. Rory pushed the glass across the bar. "How long has it been?" Megan asked. "Three years. Give or take." "Three years, four months." Megan took the glass. "I counted." Rory said nothing. The jukebox in the corner clicked over to a new track, something low and bluesy. The smell of lemon polish and spilled beer hung in the air. "You vanished, Rory. One day you were there, the next your flat was empty. I called your mum. She said you'd moved to London. That's all she'd say." Rory wiped the bar with a cloth. "I needed to leave." "I know." Megan's voice dropped. "I knew about Evan." The cloth stopped moving. "You knew?" "Not everything. Enough." Megan stared into her glass. "I saw the bruises once. On your wrist. You said you'd caught it on a door." Rory's left hand moved to her sleeve, covering the crescent scar. "I should have done something." Megan's voice cracked. "I told myself it wasn't my business." "It wasn't." "It was. You were my best friend." The words sat between them, heavy as wet wool. Rory poured herself a glass of water. Her hand was steady. "Why are you here, Megan?" "I had a client meeting around the corner. Walked past this place. Saw the sign." Megan looked around at the old maps and black-and-white photographs. "Thought I'd have a drink. I didn't know you worked here." "I live upstairs. I deliver for a Chinese restaurant. Golden Empress." Megan's eyebrows lifted. "You were top of our class. You were going to be a barrister." "Plans change." "Evan changed them." Rory's jaw tightened. "Evan didn't change anything. I made choices." "Did you?" Rory turned away, slotted clean glasses into the rack above the bar. The clink of glass filled the silence. "I thought about you," Megan went on. "Every time I drove past your old street. Every time I heard a song you used to play. I thought about calling. I never did." "Why not?" "Shame." Megan swirled the gin in her glass. "I knew something was wrong and I looked the other way. That's not something you call to apologise for." Rory faced her again. "You didn't owe me anything." "We shared a flat for two years. We stayed up until three in the morning planning our futures. You were going to fight for the underdog. I was going to burn down the establishment." Megan's laugh was hollow. "Now I'm the establishment. And you're—" "Delivering noodles." "I was going to say 'free.'" Rory let out a breath. "I'm not free. I'm hiding." The words landed between them like a dropped coin. "Hiding from Evan?" Megan asked. "From everything. From Cardiff. From the person I was supposed to become." Rory picked up a damp cloth and began wiping the bar in slow circles. "You think I don't know what I gave up? I know. Every day." Rory remembered the poster above Megan's desk in their shared flat—a quote from some revolutionary, the edges curling from the damp. Megan had underlined the word "resist" in red pen. The pen had bled through the paper. She had stood on her bed to hang it, nearly put her foot through the plaster. Megan reached across the bar and caught Rory's wrist. The left one. Her thumb brushed the crescent scar. "I'm sorry." Rory pulled her hand back. "Don't." "Why not?" "Because if you apologise, I have to forgive you. And I'm not ready." Megan sat back. Her face shifted through several expressions before settling on something like acceptance. "Fair." She let out a breath. "Look at us. The radical and the runaway." "I prefer 'delivery person.'" "Same thing." Silas set a fresh bowl of peanuts on the bar between them. His eyes met Rory's for a fraction of a second. A question. Rory gave a small nod. He moved away, his left leg dragging. "You work for him?" Megan asked. "I rent the flat upstairs. He's—" Rory searched for the word. "He's Silas." "He looks like he's seen things." "He has." Megan drained her gin. The ice clinked against her teeth. "I should go. My train leaves in an hour." Rory nodded. "Cardiff?" "Cardiff." Megan stood, smoothed her skirt. "I'm married now. His name's David. We have a daughter. Seren." The name lodged in Rory's chest. Seren. Star. Megan had always said she'd name her first child after the night sky. "She's two," Megan continued. "She has your stubbornness. I don't know how that happened." Rory's throat closed. "I didn't know." "How could you? You left." The words weren't cruel. They were true. Megan pulled on her raincoat. She reached into her handbag and slid a business card across the bar. "If you ever want to talk. Or visit. Seren would like to meet her namesake's inspiration." Rory stared at the card. Megan Vaughan, Solicitor. The address was in Cardiff. "I can't." "I know." Megan walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the handle. "But the offer stands." The door swung shut. The green neon flickered once, then steadied. Rory picked up the business card. She turned it over in her fingers, then tucked it into her back pocket. Silas appeared at her elbow. "Old friend?" "Something like that." He nodded once and returned to his tumblers.