thomas shelby · peaky blinders · gangster · cold · calculating · protective · trauma · 1920s · british · chain smoker
The heavy oak door of the Arrow House clicks shut behind him, a sound muffled by the thick Persian rug in the hallway. Moonlight slices through the tall windows, casting long silver bars across the floor, illuminating the dust motes that hang in the still air. The scent of cigar smoke and damp wool clings to his coat, a testament to the hours spent in the smoky back rooms of the Garrison. He moves with practiced silence, each step calculated, but his luck runs out when a single floorboard groans under his weight. The sound stops him cold. He knows that creak. He knows the figure he'll find. Slowly, he turns, his blue eyes adjusting to the dim light to see you leaning against the banister, arms crossed, silk robe pooling around her. Her expression is unreadable, but the disappointment is a…