Run: 2026-09-25-01M3CKA7JSBBGXCND9QEGGXZ6Z

The green neon sign of The Raven’s Nest flickered once, twice, before settling into its usual hum. The door swung open, letting in a gust of damp London air and a woman who hesitated just inside the threshold. Rory brushed rain from her sleeves, her black hair slick with it, and scanned the room. The bar was quiet tonight—just a few regulars hunched over drinks, the low murmur of conversation swallowed by the crackle of the fireplace. She spotted Silas behind the counter, polishing a glass with slow, deliberate strokes. He looked up, nodded, and she returned it, making her way to her usual stool. The wood was worn smooth under her palms. Then she saw him. A man at the far end of the bar, his back to her, but the set of his shoulders was unmistakable. Broad, familiar. A laugh bubbled in her throat before she could stop it. “Evan?” The glass in Silas’ hand stilled. The man turned. Not Evan. Of course not. Evan was in Cardiff, or at least, that’s where he’d been the last time she’d checked. This man had the same build, the same dark hair, but his face was older, lined in ways she didn’t remember. His eyes—sharp, assessing—locked onto hers. “Rory?” Her breath caught. The voice was the same. Warm, rough around the edges. Daniel. Daniel Reeves. She hadn’t heard that voice in five years. He stood, the stool scraping against the floor. For a moment, neither moved. The distance between them felt like a chasm. “You look…” He trailed off, as if the words wouldn’t come. “Older?” she supplied, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “Different.” She laughed, but it was brittle. “So do you.” He did. The boy she’d known—all easy grins and reckless energy—was gone. This man wore a tailored coat, his posture rigid, like he was bracing against something. His hands were steady, though, as he lifted his drink and took a slow sip. Silas set a glass of whiskey in front of her without a word. She wrapped her fingers around it, the heat seeping into her skin. Daniel set his drink down. “I heard you left Cardiff.” “Heard correctly.” “And Evan?” Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Ancient history.” He exhaled, a sound that might’ve been relief. “Good.” She took a sip, the burn grounding her. “What brings you to London?” “Work.” He didn’t elaborate. She raised an eyebrow. “Still playing at being a journalist?” His jaw tightened. “Not playing.” The words hung between them. She remembered the way he’d talked about it back then—like it was a calling, not just a job. Like he’d change the world with his words. “You always were stubborn,” she said. “And you always were a coward.” The words hit like a slap. She flinched, the whiskey sloshing over the rim of her glass. Silas’ head snapped up, his gaze flicking between them. Rory shook her head slightly, a silent *I’m fine*. Daniel’s expression didn’t soften. “You just… disappeared. No word, no explanation. Just gone.” She set the glass down carefully. “You know why.” “Because of Evan?” His voice was low, controlled. “You could’ve told me. I could’ve helped.” “You were part of the reason I left.” That shut him up. His face went still, the colour draining from it. She shouldn’t have said it. But the words were out now, hanging between them like a blade. The silence stretched. The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Daniel broke first. “You blamed me?” “You were his friend.” “And you were my—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Christ, Rory. I didn’t know. Not until it was too late.” She wanted to believe him. But the old hurt was a knot in her chest, tight and unyielding. “You were always too busy chasing the next big story to notice what was happening right in front of you.” His hand clenched around his glass. “That’s not fair.” “No?” She leaned forward. “Where were you when I needed you? When *she* needed you?” His breath hitched. Eva. Of course. Eva, who’d been the one to drag Rory out of Cardiff, who’d held her together when she was falling apart. Daniel’s voice was raw. “I didn’t know she was hurting either.” Rory’s throat tightened. She looked away, her gaze landing on the wall behind the bar. Old maps, yellowed with age, the edges frayed. Silas’ collection. She’d asked him once why he kept them. *Because some roads are worth remembering*, he’d said. She swallowed. “It doesn’t matter now.” “It does.” His voice was quiet but firm. “It matters because I spent years wondering what the hell happened. Wondering if I could’ve done something.” She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That Evan had been a master at hiding the bruises, the broken ribs, the way he’d made her feel small. That by the time she’d realised how bad it was, she’d been too ashamed to tell anyone. But the words stuck in her throat. Daniel’s fingers drummed against the bar. “I looked for you, you know. After you left.” She blinked. “What?” “I went to your flat. Your mum’s house. Even tracked down that bloody barrister father of yours.” A bitter laugh. “He wouldn’t even tell me if you were alive.” Her chest ached. She’d told no one where she was going. Not even Eva, not until she was already on the train to London. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I cared about you, Rory.” His eyes burned into hers. “Because I *loved* you, and you just—vanished.” The air left her lungs. She’d known, of course. She’d felt it too, back then. The way her stomach had flipped when he walked into a room, the way his laughter had made her feel light, like she could float away. But love had been a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not when Evan’s fists were a constant threat. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Daniel’s gaze dropped to her wrist, to the small crescent-shaped scar there. His brow furrowed. “What happened?” She pulled her sleeve down. “Childhood accident.” He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Silas slid a fresh glass toward Daniel, his expression unreadable. “You two need a minute?” Daniel didn’t take his eyes off Rory. “Yeah.” Silas nodded and moved to the other end of the bar, giving them the illusion of privacy. Rory traced the rim of her glass. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For leaving. For not telling you.” She met his eyes. “For blaming you.” He exhaled, long and slow. “I should’ve seen it.” “You weren’t there.” “Neither were you.” His voice was soft now, the edge gone. “Not after a while.” She flinched. It was true. She’d pulled away from everyone, not just him. Evan had made sure of that. Daniel’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for her. But he didn’t. “I’m not that reckless kid anymore, Rory.” “I can see that.” “And you?” He studied her, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders were always slightly tensed, like she was waiting for a blow. “You’re not the same either.” She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “No. I’m not.” The fire hissed, the embers glowing like dying stars. Daniel drained his drink and set the glass down. “I should go.” She wanted to tell him to stay. To ask him about the years she’d missed, about the stories he’d chased, the life he’d built. But the words wouldn’t come. He stood, his chair scraping against the floor. “It was good seeing you, Rory.” She nodded, her throat tight. He hesitated, then pulled a card from his pocket and set it on the bar. “If you ever want to talk. Or just… catch up.” She didn’t touch it. He gave her one last look, then turned and walked out. The door swung shut behind him, the neon sign flickering again, as if the building itself had exhaled. Silas appeared beside her, wiping down the bar. “Old friend?” She stared at the card. Daniel’s name, a London number. No title, no company. Just his name. “Something like that.” Silas grunted. “Some reunions are like fine wine. Others…” He poured her another whiskey. “Others leave a bitter taste.” She picked up the card, the edges sharp against her skin. Outside, the rain started again, a steady drumming against the windows.