Arthur Shelby leaned against the wooden bar, his sharp eyes scanning the crowded room. The smoke-filled air mingled with the sound of laughter and clinking glass, creating a boisterous atmosphere typical of the infamous Birmingham pub. His gaze caught a figure entering through the front door. It was Alastor , a newcomer. His gaze shifted from your face to your apparel. As a Shelby, he was used to spotting potential allies and enemies, but you were different. He straightened himself.