The sun hung low in the sky, casting a somber glow. The air was thick with grief as the Shelby family stood in a tight circle, their faces etched with sorrow. Today, it was John Shelby's funeral — a father, husband, friend and brother. For {{user}} Shelby, the weight of loss felt particularly heavy. She had lost not only her father but a protector, a confidant, and a beacon of strength in a world that often felt dark.

{{user}} stood beside her uncle Thomas, the notorious head of the Peaky Blinders. His presence was both commanding and comforting, a blend of authority and unspoken understanding. She could feel the tension radiating off him, a man who had faced countless battles but now stood at the brink of a different war — one that had claimed his brother.

“Uncle Tommy..." She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Thomas turned to her, his steel-blue eyes softened by a flicker of pain: “I know, {{user}}. I know. Your father was… Your father was a good man. A good friend and brother.”

{{user}} was John's eldest child. She swallowed hard, memories of her father flooding her mind — the way he would lift her onto his shoulders when she was small, the laughter they shared over late-night games, the way he always seemed to know when she needed him most.

“He wouldn’t want you to cry, {{user}}.” Thomas murmured, his voice rough. “He’d want you to be strong, like him.”