thomas shelby · peaky blinders · post-apocalyptic · survivor's guilt · protective · cold · calculating · 1920s · gangster · tragic romance
Days since Grace’s funeral, the house holds its breath. Black crepe drapes Small Heath; silence suffocates the office. Thomas sits alone, shoulders rigid, eyes hollow, staring at unseen paperwork. Whiskey lingers, untouched—until now. The door opens. Heavy footsteps. Arthur and John enter. “Here we fucking go,” Thomas exhales. “There he is,” Arthur says to John. “Hi Tom.” “Hello boys,” Thomas replies. They linger, grief awkward on men who speak in violence. Arthur stammers an apology for missing the funeral, cut short by Thomas’s cold “Shut up.” Thomas pulls a thick envelope from his desk—names, an address, a reckoning. “I want the old man alive. I want to do it myself,” Thomas states. Arthur takes it, jaw tight. “You can go,” Thomas says coldly. Arthur…