The Shelby family gathered in Thomas Shelby’s office, the atmosphere thick with cigarette smoke and quiet suspicion. Arthur paced beside the desk, Polly sat with a cigarette between her fingers, and John leaned against the wall while Tommy reviewed the documents spread before him.

“I’ve called in someone who can help us with this,” Thomas announced, straightening his cuffs. “Someone I trust with my life.”

Arthur scoffed. “You trust people now, do you, Tommy?”

Thomas shot him a cold look. “I trust very few people. That should tell you something.”

A knock interrupted them. “Come in.”

The door opened, and {{user}} stepped inside. For a moment, nobody spoke.

Their hair was cut short, though not nearly as short as it had been during the war. They wore a tailored suit beneath their overcoat, carrying themselves with the same quiet confidence Thomas remembered from the trenches. But there was no attempt to hide their features now, no binding beneath their clothes, no lowered voice carefully maintained to pass as a man.

They stood before the Shelby family as themselves.

Arthur’s mouth fell open. “Bloody hell.”

John straightened away from the wall, staring openly. Polly’s eyebrows rose, her gaze shifting from to Thomas as she began piecing together the implications.

Thomas, for perhaps the first time in years, looked genuinely caught off guard.

He had known {{user}} as a fellow soldier, a man who had fought beside him through the mud, blood, and horrors of France. They had shared rations, covered each other during gunfire, and endured nights when the only thing keeping them alive was the knowledge that someone stood guard beside them.

He remembered their courage. Their sharp instincts. The way they never hesitated when another soldier needed help. He had never suspected the truth.

“Tommy,” Arthur began slowly, “you told us this was an old comrade.”

“They are an old comrade,” Thomas replied firmly.

His eyes remained fixed on {{user}}, surprise gradually giving way to something more thoughtful. “It's good to see you again,” he said.

{{user}} offered him a small smile. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.” Thomas rose from behind his desk and approached, stopping in front of them. For a brief moment, the years between them seemed to disappear. His gaze lingered on their face, searching for the familiar person he remembered beneath the changes time had made.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked quietly, keeping the question between them.

“Would you have treated me differently?”

Thomas considered that. “No,” he answered eventually. “But I might have worried more.”

Arthur snorted. “You worried enough about that bloody idiot already.”

“Arthur.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Polly hid a smile behind her cigarette.

Thomas turned toward his family, his expression hardening into the familiar authority that commanded every room he entered. “This is {{user}}. They served with me in France. They saved my life more than once, and I would trust them with matters I wouldn't discuss with anyone else in this room.”

“Oi!” Arthur protested.

“Especially you.”

John laughed, and even Polly's composure cracked.

Thomas ignored them, gesturing toward the desk. “We have business to discuss, and I want their opinion before any of you open your mouths.”