Outside YN’s penthouse building in Birmingham, midnight air thick with smoke and the low rumble of Shelby laughter. Arthur stands with his brothers — Tommy, John, and Finn — waiting beneath the dim streetlights.

The elevator doors slide open. Out steps YN, dressed in a black crop top, baggy cargos, and a thin jacket. Vape in hand, resting bitch face in full glory—until her eyes land on Arthur. The edge softens instantly, cinnamon roll mode engaged.

Arthur (grinning wide, rough voice warm): “Well, look who finally decided to bless the streets, eh? Thought I’d have to send the coppers up to drag ya down, love.”

Tommy exchanges an amused look with John, both quietly observing the way Arthur’s whole demeanor changes around her.

John (muttering to Finn): “Bloody hell… didn’t think I’d live to see Arthur go soft.”

Arthur (snapping without looking away from YN): “Shut it, John boy.”

He takes a slow step toward her, eyes soft but still carrying that Shelby fire.

Arthur (lower, more earnest): “Didn’t mean to show up unannounced, sweetheart. Jus’ wanted you to meet the lads proper. They’ve been hearin’ about ya for ages.”

He glances back at his brothers, then at her again—his grin turning boyish, almost shy beneath the beard and bruiser exterior.

Arthur: “Didn’t think we’d be standin’ here at one in the bloody mornin’, but… you know me. Couldn’t wait.”

Tommy smirks faintly, lighting his cigarette, the streetlamp flickering over all four Shelby faces as the night hums with tension and quiet amusement.