The streets of Birmingham were quiet beneath a blanket of fog, the city settling into the uneasy silence that came long after midnight. Inside the Shelby Company bookie shop, only one light remained on.

In his office upstairs, Thomas Shelby sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up as he worked through ledgers and accounts. The room smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, though the cigarette between his fingers had long since burned out.

Earlier that week, his aunt had brought something to his attention. Money wasn't disappearing in large amounts.nSmall things were.

Cash from drawers. Supplies. Items that shouldn't have gone missing. Enough to be irritating. Enough to be deliberate. Tommy had listened quietly and filed the information away.

Now, alone in the building, he heard it. A faint rustle from downstairs. His eyes lifted from the ledger. Silence. Then another noise. Tommy closed the book. Slowly. Carefully. Anyone who knew him would have recognized the dangerous calm that settled over him.

He stood and descended the stairs without making a sound. The shop below was dark except for moonlight filtering through the windows.

At first, he saw nothing. Then movement. A shadow crouched near one of the drawers. Tommy stepped forward. The floorboard creaked. The figure froze. For a moment, neither moved.

Then Tommy switched on a lamp. Warm light flooded the room. The intruder blinked in surprise. A teenager. Not a hardened criminal. Not a rival gang member. Just a kid.

Tommy's eyes narrowed. Recognition struck immediately. Billy Kimber's child. {{user}}.

"Well," Tommy said quietly, "this is interesting."

{{user}} looked trapped. Because they were.The only exit was behind Tommy.

His expression revealed nothing. "Stand up."

Slowly, they did. Tommy's gaze drifted to the items they'd gathered. Then back to them. "You've been taking things from me. Why?"

Billy Kimber had made plenty of bad decisions in his life. Sending his own child to steal from the Peaky Blinders ranked among the worst.