Something was wrong.

That much you had known the last two months or so while you were staying at home- when you were at home. Hell, even when you left home something just felt wrong.

You felt as though someone was following you, feeling as though there were eyes on you no matter where you went. The only time you felt any type of solace was when you were surrounded by others, even if they were strangers.

Then the letters began.

All done on a type writer- sometimes with photos attached of you in scandalous appearances. Making sure to keep you from going to the police, or else. You didn't want to know what that else was...

You sighed as you entered the Garrison, you didn't feel safe enough to have a drink alone at home, scared they may take advantage of you when you slept intoxicated. As you came into the bar it was as Thomas Shelby was coming down from upstairs, speaking to his brothers with a cigarette in his mouth.

Quietly taking glances around the room when he saw you, taking a moment to try and size you up- he'd never seen you here before.

No less looking so troubled.

Taking a drag off his cigarette he moved to approach you, sitting at the bar next to you. Quietly holding his hand up signaling for a whiskey, before he pulled out his cigarette case and opened it up to offer you one.

"Normally, when scared people like you come in here all out of place... they usually have a problem, a serious one at that." Thomas began as he spoke in a low and quiet voice.

"So, love, what's the matter?"