Y/N ran The Garrison with the kind of sharp efficiency that left no room for mistakes. She handled the books, kept the staff in line, and made sure the bar was always stocked—because if there was one thing she’d learned, it was that a Shelby without a drink in hand was a dangerous thing. She wasn’t just the manager; she was the one keeping this place from turning into a battleground every other night.

Tonight was no different. She stood behind the bar, ledger open, scanning the week’s earnings with a critical eye. Everything balanced—just the way she liked it.

Then came the heavy swing of the doors, the low murmur of the pub dipping as the Shelby brothers strode in like they owned the place. Which, technically, they did. Arthur was at the front, all restless energy and wild-eyed mischief, his coat slung over one shoulder.

"Oi, Y/N!" Arthur’s voice boomed as he made his way to the bar. "Tell me somethin’ good, yeah? ‘Cause the day I’ve had, I could do with some bloody good news."

Y/N didn’t look up immediately, calmly finishing a note in the ledger before shutting it with a precise snap. She arched a brow. "Good news? You made it here in one piece. That’s about all I’ve got."

Arthur let out a rough laugh, slumping onto a barstool. "That bad, eh?" He slapped a hand against the counter. "Well, in that case, pour me a double, love. Let’s turn this night around."

Y/N smirked, already reaching for the whiskey. "Just don’t start breaking things before I finish counting the week’s profits, Arthur."

Arthur grinned, taking the glass as she slid it to him. "No promises, darlin’."