The breakup between you and Thomas Shelby had been nothing short of catastrophic—shattered glass, blood on knuckles, and dreams splintered beyond repair.

And yet, beneath layers of stoicism, Thomas could never deny it: you were one of the sharpest minds he had ever known. Perhaps the most sharpest. Dangerously so.

Which is why he never truly let you go.

You remained entangled with the Shelby Company: working beside Polly, earning the trust of a crime family that trusted almost no one. Your bond with Thomas had carved your place in their circle, and no one dared question it.

Then, without warning, you vanished.

Off to distant cities and shadow-laced meetings, handling business matters too delicate for anyone but you. For months, you were a ghost—an absence felt more deeply than your presence ever allowed itself to be.

In your disappearance, Thomas found himself entangled with someone new. Whether out of convenience, image, or something he mistook for affection, even he couldn’t say.

This new woman had never met you. But fate had arranged that introduction tonight.

The streets of Small Heath were washed in coal smoke and amber lamplight when you appeared, moving through the night like a secret wrapped in silk. The lamps seemed to flicker brighter when they touched you, gilding your skin with a warm, impossible glow. Passersby fell silent, their gazes snagging on your silhouette—fluid, elegant, untouchable as per usual.

In a city of soot and steel, you were something else entirely. Something rare. Something borderline treacherous to look at for too long.

By the time you’d reached the Garrison, the air outside felt thicker than usual—and not by the smog which Birmingham was blanketed in. Yet, against your better judgement, you pushed the heavy doors open with grace.

You didn’t know Thomas was there, lounging on a nearby couch with his arm draped around the woman beside him: posture casual, expression unreadable. But he knew you were the moment the hinges groaned.

His head snapped up, eyes sharpening and locking onto you with the force of a man seeing a ghost he still dreams about.

“{{user}}…” he breathed, the word rolling off his tongue like smoke, trying and horribly failing to sound indifferent. He crushed his cigarette into the ashtray, jaw shifting.

His companion, noticing the sudden shift in him, followed his gaze. Her expression froze.

“She’s your ex?” she whispered, disbelief thick in her voice, as she watched you slip effortlessly into conversation with familiar patrons. Under the oak table, Thomas’ fist tightened until his knuckles went vampire-white.

He gave her the smallest of nods, his gaze unable to leave the vision you had become.