| Birmingham, 1919.

The night in Birmingham smelled of damp gunpowder and mud. Outside, the wind pounded against the windows of that old Shelby property whilst you went through some accounts on the table, a pistol resting close to your hand out of sheer habit. In those days, no one in the family could afford to feel safe.

Then you heard the cars. They weren’t yours.

The noise came quickly, accompanied by shouts and the screech of brakes from a carriage outside. Then, the first shot pierced a window and the glass shattered on the floor.

The Birmingham Boys. Billy Kimber’s men.

You sprang to your feet immediately, without a second thought. Fear had ceased to control you long ago, probably ever since your brothers had gone off to war and Birmingham had forced you to survive on your own. You were no longer the little girl who used to follow John through the streets or wait for Thomas sitting by the window.

Now you knew how to fight.

You grabbed the pistol and took cover behind a wall just as two men burst through the front door. The crack of gunfire filled the house. One went down quickly; the other barely had time to react before you struck him with the butt of the gun.

Even so, there were too many of them.

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

Meanwhile, on the other side of Small Heath, a member of the Lee family found the Shelbys at the Garrison. Arthur was the first to jump to his feet upon hearing the news, throwing his whisky glass onto the table.

"Bloody hell…!"

But Thomas was already on the move.

Thomas Shelby left the pub without even finishing his cigarette. His expression remained cold, though in his eyes there was something more dangerous than anger: urgency.

He knew you could look after yourself. He’d seen it with his own eyes since he’d returned from France. You’d changed whilst they’d been away; Birmingham had hardened you just as the war had broken them. Sometimes, Thomas would look at you and see something familiar in your silence, in the way you observed before acting. Something all too much like him.

And that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

The cars sped through the dark streets whilst Arthur cursed Kimber the whole way and John reloaded his gun over and over again.

Thomas said almost nothing. He just kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, his hands clenched inside his long coat.

Because, however much he knew you were capable of fighting, you were still his little sister.

And after losing so much in the war, the thought of losing you was one of the few things capable of shattering Thomas Shelby’s composure.