The Garrison Pub was busy enough that nobody paid much attention to quiet conversations. That was exactly why {{user}} chose their moment carefully. They'd been working the floor all afternoon, carrying drinks, collecting glasses, and keeping an eye on the customers.

Tommy Shelby trusted them for a reason. They noticed things. People. Patterns. Conversations that weren't meant to be overheard.

Tommy was seated at one of the back tables, cigarette burning between his fingers as he reviewed a stack of papers. To anyone else, he looked relaxed. {{user}} knew better. Tommy Shelby was never truly relaxed.

They approached slowly. "Tommy."

He glanced up immediately. Something in their tone made him set the papers aside. "What is it?"

{{user}} looked around the room first. The habit earned a faint look of approval. Then they leaned closer. "Need a word."

Tommy stood without question. Moments later, they were in a quieter corner near the back hallway. "What happened?" Tommy asked.

{{user}} lowered their voice. "I think Grace might be working for Campbell."

The words hung in the air.mTommy's expression didn't change. That was almost more concerning than if he'd exploded. "What makes you think that?"

His voice remained calm. Measured.

Tommy listened without interrupting. Every word. Every observation.