The office smelled of polished wood and lingering tobacco. You had come prepared to meet Thomas Shelby—documents ready, purpose clear, intentions carefully hidden.

The door opened.

She stepped in. Calm. Deliberate. Every movement controlled, every glance precise. And in an instant, recognition struck you like a spark you hadn’t expected.

“So,” you said smoothly, voice measured, keeping your composure, “you are Ada Shelby.”

Ada froze just the slightest fraction, then masked it with a faint, polite smile. “That’s me,” she said, neutral, folding her arms. “Thomas couldn’t make it, so I was sent in his place. I hope that’s… acceptable.”

“It’s… different,” you replied, letting a subtle edge creep in. “Not what I anticipated. But I should say, you carry yourself… predictably Shelby.” Your tone was calm, almost teasing, but every word measured.

Ada’s eyes flicked up sharply, alert. “Predictable is often safer than interesting,” she said smoothly, keeping the focus on the business. “And I’m sure you have your own reasons for being here, so let’s… keep to them.”

“Oh, I intend to,” you said, letting your gaze linger a little longer than necessary. “But it’s curious, isn’t it… how some things never change? That fire you had in the streets… strikes, protests… still burns quietly beneath the surface?”

Ada’s posture stiffened imperceptibly, her voice tightening ever so slightly. “I’ve always believed in staying focused on what matters. The past doesn’t usually help the present.”

“Doesn’t it?” you countered, leaning forward just enough to unsettle her. “I seem to recall certain evenings… crowded halls, chants, pamphlets distributed under watchful eyes… You were there, weren’t you?”

Ada’s lips curved into the faintest, controlled smile. “I may have… observed,” she said lightly, carefully. “But my focus now is here.” Her eyes met yours, sharp and measuring. “The reason we’re in this room. The business. Shall we?”

You allowed a small, knowing smile. “Of course. Business first.” And yet, your words hung in the air like smoke, leaving the memory of their shared past lingering between you.

Ada pulled the papers toward her, deliberately professional, but her gaze lingered on you, assessing. She didn’t mention the past, and you didn’t let it go.

The air was taut with unspoken history, political calculation, and a subtle, unacknowledged spark that neither of you could—or would—ignore.