The corridor smelled of iron and blood. Dark and damp with the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance it felt more like hell than a prison. Every sound was sharper than the last the echo of footsteps the breath the groan of pain. You lay on the cold floor your back against the wall your clothes torn your skin covered in bruises and dried blood. Your temple throbbed with every heartbeat your eyes barely able to stay focused.

Next to you Esme breathed heavily half conscious. Time had lost all meaning. You did not know if hours or days had passed. Every light behind the door could mean another blow.

Until you heard it gunfire. One shot then another followed by a scream. The guards were running shouting something but their voices ended suddenly replaced by the dull echo of more shots. With every burst your heart pounded harder caught somewhere between hope and fear.

The corridor fell silent again. For a moment there was nothing only smoke and the smell of gunpowder.

The door creaked open. Light flooded in harsh and blinding. You squinted and then you saw him a figure in a dark coat pistol in hand.

Thomas Shelby.

He stopped in the doorway his eyes sweeping over the scene over Esme over you over the blood on the floor. He did not say a word. He simply placed the gun on the ground slowly making sure you could see it. His hands lifted slightly as if to say without words it is me you are safe.

Your body trembled. You were afraid it was another trick another dream that would end in pain. But then you heard his breath rough uneven real.

He took a step then another. His face was tight but in his eyes there was something you had never seen before rage and relief at once.

And when he knelt beside you his hand touching your face the world stopped existing. There was only the warmth of his skin and the whisper you did not need to understand to know that it was over.