AI The green neon sign of The Raven’s Nest flickered once, twice, as Rory ducked under the awning, shaking rain from her jacket. The downpour had come out of nowhere, turning Soho’s streets into a slick, reflective mess. She wiped her palms on her jeans and pushed open the heavy wooden door, the scent of aged whiskey and polished wood wrapping around her like an old, familiar coat.
The bar was quiet for a Thursday—just a few regulars hunched over their drinks, the low hum of conversation swallowed by the crackling fireplace in the corner. Silas was behind the counter, polishing a glass with the methodical precision of a man who had spent a lifetime waiting for things to happen. He glanced up, his hazel eyes sharp even in the dim light, and gave her a nod. No words needed. She’d been coming here long enough that her usual stool by the far wall was already reserved, a half-empty glass of water sweating onto the dark wood.
She slid onto it, peeling off her damp jacket. The bar’s warmth seeped into her skin, chasing away the chill . Silas set a fresh glass in front of her without asking, his signet ring glinting as he poured two fingers of bourbon from the bottle he kept under the counter just for her.
“Rough night?” he murmured.
“Just wet,” she said, but her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the glass to her lips. The amber liquid burned all the way down, steadying her.
The door opened again, letting in a gust of wind and the sharp, sudden laughter of a woman. Rory didn’t turn. She rarely did. But there was something about the laugh—bright, familiar —that made her spine stiffen.
Then the voice cut through the haze of the bar, clear and warm, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Rory’s breath caught. She knew that voice . Knew the way it carried, the way it could shift from teasing to cutting in half a second. Slowly, she turned.
Eva stood just inside the doorway, her dark curls damp from the rain, her sharp brown eyes locked onto Rory with an intensity that made the years between them feel like nothing. She was dressed in a tailored coat, expensive leather boots—nothing like the ripped jeans and band T-shirts she’d worn back in Cardiff. Time had carved new edges into her face, softened the angles of her jaw, but her smile was the same. Wide, unguarded.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then Eva crossed the room in three long strides and pulled Rory into a crushing hug. “Jesus Christ, Rory Carter. I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”
Rory stiffened, then forced herself to relax, returning the embrace with one arm. Eva smelled like perfume and rain, like the girl she’d once been and the woman she’d become. “I did,” Rory said, voice muffled against her shoulder . “Just not the way you think.”
Eva pulled back, gripping Rory’s shoulders, her thumbs pressing into the fabric of Rory’s sweater like she was afraid she’d vanish if she let go. “Look at you. You’re—” She laughed, shaking her head . “You’re exactly the same.”
Rory almost flinched. She wasn’t. Not even close. But Eva’s gaze was warm, uncritical, and for a second, she let herself pretend it was true.
“What are you doing here?” Rory asked.
Eva’s smile faltered, just for a second. “Business. I’m in town for a few days.” She glanced around the bar, taking in the maps on the walls, the hushed conversations, Silas watching them with the quiet interest of a man who missed nothing. “This your place now?”
“Something like that.” Rory gestured to the stool beside her. “Sit. Drink?”
Eva didn’t hesitate. She shed her coat, revealing a sleek black dress beneath, and slid onto the stool with the effortless grace of someone who belonged anywhere she chose to be. Silas materialized in front of them, his limp barely noticeable as he moved. “What’ll it be?”
“Whiskey. Neat.” Eva’s voice was smooth, confident. She’d always been the bold one.
Silas poured, his eyes flicking between them. He knew Rory’s history—knew the name Eva from the stories she’d told over late-night drinks—but he didn’t pry. Just set the glass down and melted back into the shadows behind the bar.
Eva took a sip, then exhaled sharply . “God, that’s good.” She turned to Rory, her expression softening. “I tried calling you, you know. After… well. After everything.”
Rory’s fingers tightened around her glass. “I know.”
“You never called back.”
“I know.”
A silence settled between them, thick with all the things they weren’t saying . The rain outside pattered against the windows, filling the gap. Eva traced a finger along the rim of her glass. “I heard about Evan.”
Rory’s stomach twisted. Of course Eva had heard. Eva heard everything. That was the problem. “Yeah. Well. It’s over.”
“Good.” Eva’s voice was flat, final. “He was a prick.”
Rory almost laughed. Almost. But the memory of Evan’s hands, his voice, the way he’d made her feel small—it coiled in her chest, heavy and cold. “Yeah. He was.”
Eva studied her, her brown eyes too perceptive. “You’re not still—”
“No.” Rory cut her off. “I’m not.”
Eva nodded, but her jaw was tight. “You should’ve let me help you.”
“You did.” Rory took another sip of her drink, the bourbon burning away the tightness in her throat. “You got me out. That’s all I needed.”
Eva scoffed, shaking her head. “Bullshit. You needed more than that. You needed—” She stopped, pressing her lips together. “You needed someone to tell you that you didn’t deserve it.”
Rory’s throat closed. She looked away, her gaze landing on the old maps behind the bar—places Silas had been, places she’d never go. “I know that now.”
“Do you?” Eva’s voice was quiet. “Because you left Cardiff like it was on fire. You dropped out of uni. You disappeared. And I get it, Rory. I do. But you could’ve leaned on me.”
Rory’s chest ached. “I couldn’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I was embarrassed!” The words burst out of her, raw and sharp. She lowered her voice, aware of Silas’ gaze on them, the way the other patrons had gone quiet. “Because I let it happen. Because I stayed. And I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
Eva’s expression crumpled. For the first time since she’d walked in, she looked like the girl Rory had grown up with—the one who’d shared secrets under the bleachers at school, who’d held Rory’s hair back when she’d drunk too much at sixteen, who’d been the first person Rory had ever trusted. “Rory. You’re an idiot.”
Rory huffed a laugh, blinking back the sting in her eyes.
Eva reached out, her fingers brushing Rory’s wrist—right over the crescent-shaped scar. Rory flinched, but Eva didn’t pull away. “You think I would’ve judged you? After everything?”
Rory swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Eva’s grip tightened, just for a second. “I would’ve killed him.”
Rory believed her. Eva had always been the fierce one, the protector. But that was the thing about growing up—sometimes the people who’d once been your shield couldn’t save you from yourself.
Silas appeared beside them, his voice low . “Everything alright here?”
Eva looked up at him, her expression smoothing into something polite, professional. “Fine. Just catching up with an old friend.”
Silas’ gaze flicked to Rory, and she gave him a small nod. He lingered for a second, then moved back down the bar, giving them the illusion of privacy.
Eva exhaled, rubbing her temples. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine.” Rory waved a hand. “I’m fine.”
Eva arched a brow. “You’re working at a bar.”
“It’s Silas’ bar. And I deliver food for Yu-Fei during the day.”
“Right.” Eva’s tone was careful, like she was walking on eggshells. “And you’re… happy?”
Rory considered the question. The flat above the bar, the rhythm of her days, the way Silas had become an unexpected anchor. The way she could sleep through the night now without jumping at shadows. “Yeah. I am.”
Eva studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. That’s… good.” She took another sip of her drink, then set it down with a sharp click. “I have a flat in Manchester now. Bought it last year. You should visit.”
Rory’s chest tightened. “I will.”
Eva smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Liar.”
Rory didn’t deny it.
The silence stretched again, but this time it was different. Less heavy. More like the quiet between old friends who’d run out of words but not out of time.
Eva sighed, shaking her head. “You’re still a terrible liar, Carter.”
Rory grinned, just a little. “And you’re still a pain in my arse, Ellis.”
Eva laughed, the sound bright and warm, and for a second, it was like no time had passed at all. Like they were still those girls in Cardiff, dreaming of the future like it was something they could shape with their bare hands.
But then Eva’s phone buzzed, and she pulled it out, her expression shifting into something more serious. “I’ve got to go. Meeting in twenty.” She stood, grabbing her coat . “But we’re not done here. I’ll be in town for a few days. Dinner. Tomorrow.”
Rory hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Dinner.”
Eva leaned down, pressing a quick, hard kiss to Rory’s temple. “Don’t bail on me.”
Rory watched as Eva buttoned her coat, adjusted her bag, and strode toward the door with the same confidence she’d always carried. Before she left, she turned back, her hand on the doorframe. “And Rory?”
“Yeah?”
“If he ever comes near you again, you call me. I’ve got connections now.”
Rory almost laughed. Almost. But the look in Eva’s eyes was deadly serious.
The door swung shut behind her, leaving Rory alone with her drink and the weight of the past pressing down on her like a second skin.
Silas appeared beside her, wiping down the counter with a rag that had seen better decades . “Old friend?”
Rory stared at the amber liquid in her glass. “Yeah. Something like that.”
He didn’t push. He never did. But his voice was gentle when he spoke. “She seems like she cares about you.”
Rory’s throat tightened. “She does.”
Silas nodded, then moved back down the bar, leaving her to her thoughts. Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, the neon sign casting a green glow over the wet pavement.
Rory swirled her drink, watching the ice clink against the glass. Eva had changed. She’d always been sharp, but now there was a hardness to her, a polish that hadn’t been there before. And Rory—she wasn’t the same either. The girl who’d fled Cardiff in the dead of night, who’d been too scared to answer Eva’s calls, who’d let fear dictate her life—she was still in there, somewhere. But she wasn’t all of her anymore.
She took a deep breath, the bourbon warming her from the inside out. Tomorrow. Dinner. A chance to bridge the gap between who they’d been and who they were now.
For the first time in a long time, Rory let herself hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late.