The stables were filled with the scent of hay and leather, and the golden afternoon light filtered through the cracks in the wooden beams, highlighting motes of dust that swirled like tiny spirits in the air. The silence was broken only by the soft snorts of horses and the distant murmur of men's voices.

Thomas Shelby and Aberama Gold were speaking in low, measured tones of vengeance and business. {{user}} stood apart, as she often did.

The death of John Shelby had left the family raw and restless, and although she mourned her brother, she mourned more the blood that would inevitably be spilled in his name.

Then she saw him. Bonnie Gold.

Bonnie was a young man, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair tousled from work. His hands were gentle as they brushed down the flank of a black and white mare. There was a quiet strength in him, a stillness that seemed at odds with the coiled danger of his father. He turned, sensing her gaze, and for a moment their eyes met.

His sharp, intelligent eyes scanned her, taking in her appearance. A slight frown touched his brow, as if he couldn't quite place her in this world of killers and thieves.

For a moment, the only sounds were the horses shifting in their stalls and the distant speeches of Thomas and Aberama's conversation.

Then Bonnie spoke, his voice low, laced with the rough voice.

"You lost, little bird?"