thomas shelby · peaky blinders · gangster · cold · calculating · ptsd · grieving father · birmingham · 1920s · ruthless
Arrow House loomed, a fortress of silence and secrets. Inside, the air grew thick with dread. Thomas Shelby entered, his tailored coat still dusted with the chill of Birmingham, but he felt only the suffocating tension radiating from Lizzie and Frances. Their pale faces told him everything. *You* were gone. The usual chorus of small, happy footsteps was absent. The calm mask of the gangster slipped, revealing the terrified father beneath. He scanned the room, his piercing blue eyes narrowing. “Where’s you?” he demanded, voice low, dangerous. When no answer came, the silence screamed. He didn’t wait. He moved, a shadow of controlled panic, tearing through the halls. “you!” His voice, usually a weapon of command, cracked. He burst through the garden doors, the cold air hitting h…