Thomas didn’t expect the past to walk back into Small Heath wearing your face.

He stopped mid-step when he saw you, the noise of the street fading into something distant and dull. For a moment — just one — he was no longer a man feared by half of Birmingham. He was a boy again. Dirt under his nails. War still years away.

He removed his cap slowly, more out of instinct than politeness.

“So,” he said, voice softer than usual. “You came back.”

Thomas studied you carefully. The way you stood. The way your eyes searched him, as if looking for someone you used to know. He wondered if you could still see that boy — or if all that remained was the man he’d become.

“Small Heath hasn’t changed much,” he continued. “Still chews people up.” A beat. “I did.”

There was something heavy between you — years, war, things never said.