☆

THE GRACE SHELBY INSTITUTE FOR ORPHANED CHILDREN stood firm amongst the masses that flocked to its threshold. Clara sat in the passenger seat of her car, her arms folded tightly and uncomfortably as they pulled into a parking spot. Pol had been the one to remind her of the glorified opening day and Will was the one who had actually gotten her to leave Watery Lane. The boy looked over at her from the wheel, his eyes cautiously searching her distant look.

"Shelby?"

The girl hummed and turned to face her best friend. His eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned the emotionless expression on her face.

"You don't have to go in, just say the word and we can get out of here," Will spoke. He spoke as if she were a child, one who was about to start their first day of school or make their first friends. "I'll even take the fall for it." The girl's eyes drifted from Will as the Shelby family walked in unison towards the doors.

"There goes the king and all the king's men," she murmured absently, her eyes following her family as they gathered for a picture. Everyone had dressed for the occasion in their finest clothing. Her nephews and nieces were running rings around the adults, ducking in and out of legs as they scrambled to the front of the picture. Her brothers all adorned hats, not the razor-edged kind that Clara had grown accustomed to but rounded fedoras, something so unfamiliar to see. Will ran a tongue over his bottom lip as they remained in the car.

"I mean it, Clara...look at me," He urged, she could even hear an ounce of pleading in his tone. "You don't have to go in. I wouldn't blame you. They've put you through so much shit recently, and quite frankly I believe think they deserve to be around you."

"They're my family, Will," Clara sighed, "besides, I think Pol would crucify me and hang me before the praying masses if we left." She had tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in her stomach and mind, one which had frequently wracked her body and provided the endless urge to indulge in her beloved white powder—her saving grace.

Today was a bad day, she could feel it clearly now.

"Scale of one to ten," Will asked, his voice low and stern. The Clarke boy seemed to have grown up significantly in a matter of weeks, ever since he'd received that phone call on the fateful night Clara had overdosed, gone was childish Will, now replaced with William— a friend who had gone far beyond the worry a human could cope with. He had been with her almost every day, and on the days he wasn't, he would call and she would answer. He helped her through her withdrawals, often staying the night in her room, sleeping on the cold wooden floor beside her bed as the girl shivered and shook and cried and begged for him to give her some snow.

Those nights had become recurrent, usually a byproduct of days where Clara was overwhelmed with the world and of nights where nightmares plagued her brittle mind.

Will hadn't minded looking after her. He relished it. He would prefer to be by her side as she cried in bed rather than stand atop an uneven slab of earth she rotted beneath. The two had adapted to a system, a simple one to ten rating of a day. One being 'alright' and ten being 'I wish you would've left me to die on the floor'. Crass and even blunt, it was a system Clara had laughed at when decided upon, Will hadn't found it nearly as hysterical as she had. He merely agreed to it as she had been the one to take initiative.

The girl's eyes remained on her family as they broke apart after the camera's flash. She watched as they all filed into the building before turning her head back to Will.

"Three," she decided, it had been a lie, of course. If she was truthful it would be a six and she knew it was only going to climb higher as the day dragged on. But she'd caused enough problems. Today wasn't about her. "Now, c'mon we should go in."

Clara jumped out of the car, not allowing her lie to linger in her mind as she slammed her car door shut. Will followed in pursuit, his eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were pursed. He didn't want to be here. Clara could tell that from the get-go, but he wouldn't leave her to do this alone. He would be there at every step.

The two walked in tandem into the small church within the Grace Shelby Institute. Donors and sponsors had been given seats up the front, where the Shelby family sat on one side and the rich men on the other. Kids, nurses and teachers all sat behind, diligently watching as the Shelby family talked amongst themselves. Clara faltered at the entrance of the church. She didn't want to walk up the centre of the aisle. Will noticed her hesitance and swiftly grabbed her hand and pulled her off to the side where they sat at the end of the back row. The children and nurse sitting in the row looked towards them in curiosity, yet none of them spoke up.

The room plunged into silence as Polly Gray stood up and took to the podium, her knowing eyes flitting across the room. They stopped on Clara and Will in the back before they returned to the front of the church.

"Welcome to the opening of the Grace Shelby Institute for non-insured children of the poor." Polly began with a smile, "I would very much like you to join me in thanking the man that made the founding of this establishment actually possible. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Thomas Shelby."

Clara watched as everyone stood to their feet to applaud her older brother, both she and Will remained rooted to their seats. He stood to his feet and basked the applause with Charlie briefly on his hip as his eyes scanned over the hall before he placed the child in a nurse's arms. She watched as her brothers hollered at Tommy as he approached the stand, their whistles and hoots so starkly standing out.

"Erm, I didn't come here today to make a speech, but I will say this. These children are now safe." Tommy paused as he looked at each of the children sitting in pews and seats. "In our care, they will be safe because we are from the same cold streets as they are. And in our care, they won't be shipped away to the colonies, or separated from kin, or made to work for men in their various ways. They will grow up here, at home...loved...in Birmingham. Because this is our city."

"By order of the Peaky Blinders," Arthur added gruffly, his loud voice echoed off the concrete walls. Clara rolled her eyes as she slumped further into her seat. The room applauded once more, everyone standing to their feet in unison as Tommy merely nodded and watched. His watchful eyes flickered towards the motionless Clara and Will, the latter of whom seemed to be whispering something to the girl, who whispered something back almost instantaneously. Tommy looked down before he left the stand to allow Pol takeover for the remainder of the ceremony.

☆

CLARA FELT ILL. The kind of sickness that sprang around the stomach before infiltrating every nerve and overwhelming the body with the feeling of pure nausea. Her head felt compressed, her thoughts funnelling around the confines of her skull. It was an anxious feeling, one that swirled around her veins like a lethal adrenaline.

Seven.

That was what she would say her daily rating had jumped to. The girl leaned against the window sill of the large room beside Will who appeared a lot more relaxed. His eyes casually cased the room, but she saw the way his jaw clicked almost methodically. He didn't want to be there, and from the way his shoulder rested just in front of hers, it was almost as if he were trying to shield her from the fawning crowd.

"Ms Shelby,"

Clara's eyes darted up towards an older man in a black suit as he smiled stiffly towards the girl. The Shelby girl stood up straight, her eyes on the man as he held out his hand for her to shake.

"I'm Lewis Earle," He introduced, the girl shook his hand as she kept her face straight. She knew that name, from where she couldn't tell. "I oversee the protected sites and churches in Wales. We spoke over the phone about Saint Jude's, you helped organise the supply chain."

"Sounds like us," Clara forced a smile, she could feel Will growing tenser and tenser by the second. "I'm sorry, Mr Earle, but I'm not in charge of any of that, you'll have to speak with Thomas, himself." The girl looked towards her older brother who stood talking with Arthur and John. "He's right over there."

"I was actually hoping to speak with you about—" the man began again, Clara's eyebrows furrowed as she subtly scanned his face. His eyes were green, their gaze sharp. His lips were pursed and his nose...his nose had little remnants of white powder dotted just along the rim of the nostril. The girl tensed up, her eyes fixating now solely on the powder.

"Look, Ms Shelby actually isn't on the clock today," Will interrupted, whilst he attempted to sound professional, however, his blunt tone shone through. "So maybe you should go talk to Mr Shelby like she suggested." The man's eyes glanced between Clara and Will before he sighed lowly.

"Very well," he nodded, "it was a pleasure to meet you." Clara hummed softly, her eyes glazed over as she now stared into nothingness. Will placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her back towards the window where the bottom of her spine could touch the wooden sill.

Clara felt her body heat up. It was her first time coming in contact with the sight of snow since she relapsed in London. The girl's fingers tapped mindlessly against the wood behind her, her teeth sinking deep into her lip. Her eyes followed the man as he left to speak with Tommy. Where had he gotten his snow?

— ASK HIM.

The girl gulped back a shuddered breath as her prevalent cravings began to rise to the surface of her mind. She had zoned out now. She was deaf to the crooning of women to her brothers, deaf to Ada creating business deals, deaf to Will, who watched and whispered to her quietly.

— SOMEBODY IN THIS IS BOUND TO HAVE IT. GO FIND IT.

Clara's chest rose and fell heavily. She could feel her heart beginning to race in her chest, jumping hurdles as it went, not caring for the consequences that her body would endure. The thought of snow made the girl thirst for it. She felt like a caterpillar long dungeoned in its cocoon just waiting for a sliver of hope to spring into the freedom of a social butterfly. She needed that freedom. She needed that boost. The girl's eye twitched ever so carefully as she began to look around the room.

— DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT YOU COULD DO THIS WITHOUT SNOW?

Clara could taste the metallic tang of blood as her teeth pierced her lip.

Eight.

The room was getting smaller as the girl breathed in the stuffy air. She needed to get out. She couldn't stay in this room any longer. Her body was vibrating, each nerve fizzling and burning and pulling at her body in an attempt to control it.

Nine.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Clara spoke quickly. She spared a singular second to look at Will, who continued to watch her cautiously.

"Do you want me to come with you," he asked lowly. He could read her body language, each muscle of his was tensed and ready to spring into action. The girl breathed in a shuddered breath before she rolled her shoulders back.

"No...I'll be back in two minutes," she said with as much calmness as she could muster. It had failed miserably, of course, her voice cracked and Will wasn't convinced. Before he could stop her or persist that he come with her, Clara found herself escaping the confines of the room.

The halls were unfamiliar as she stumbled down them, her fingers brushing against the wall. She found herself quickly descending a staircase as she allowed her body to control what she did rather than allow her tattered mind to take the reins. Her throat was tight, the collar of her dress scratching the pale skin as it sat uncomfortably against the base of her neck. The girl grunted in frustration as she pulled at it haphazardly.

Everything felt wrong.

Her hair was suddenly pinned up to tight, her toes were too compressed in her shoes, the air was too warm almost unbreathable, the perfume she wore was suddenly too pungent and it overpowered her senses, and the light above was too bright and too white and the entire bloody building was too warm despite the goosebumps it forced down upon her limbs.

She needed to get out.

Clara pushed open a wooden door down the hall. The outside air flooded through her body as she gasped rapidly like a man drowning. One of her hands was splayed across her chest, her other around her stomach as she gulped in the fresh air. She staggered out into the stone-filled ground, her body weak and heavy as she walked away from the door.

Clara Shelby wanted to curl up in a ball. She didn't want to go back inside but she didn't quite want to return home either. She wanted to linger in the undecided limbo between worlds. She could hear the crunching of stones as more cars pulled up for the opening. The girl moved further and further away from the door and the building wanting to put as much space between her and the occupants inside.

Her throat was still tight as she pulled on the collar of her dress. The anxious pit that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her stomach pulsed and sent knives tipped with nausea and dread towards her nerves. Her hand tightened around her stomach and the other held the wall beside her as she gagged, but didn't spew. She wish she could because then maybe the pain would fade.

It all felt so wrong.

Perhaps she should've taken Will's earlier suggestion and not attended this stupid thing at all. Who would've cared if she'd been crucified, she'd rather be nailed at each limb than continue the harsh cycle of anxiety, craving and bewilderment. She would rather die on a cross and then die a sinner still searching for her Havana.

The girl heard the distant sound of the door to the building open once more as it creaked and then banged shut. Her half-lidded eyes shifted towards the noise and allowed her eyes to focus. Through her slight vision, she saw Charlie in the arms of a nurse. It felt wrong. Clara felt as if she were thrown into the icy pits of the coldest seas. The nurse had frozen upon seeing her. Clara was suddenly upright, no longer relying on the wall beside her. Her hand instinctively reached to her side where her gun would usually remain strapped. Her hand met the nothingness.

"Charlie?! OI!" She yelled as the nurse broke into a run towards a black car that had parked up outside. Clara let out another cracked holler as she chased after the nurse and boy in her arms. "WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HIM?!"

"CHARLIE!" She called once more as she pushed her legs to go faster. Her tired body protested the volatile movements as her legs tried to slow her through yanks of pain in her tendons. She watched as the young boy remained quiet in the arms of what was supposed to be a trusted nurse.

Clara could only watch while two men exited the backseat of the car as the nurse approached. One took the boy and placed him in the backseat, whilst the other approached Clara who still sprinted towards the car. The man had his gun pointed towards her, the small base and the long front doing little to deter her rapid movements. When the girl was less than five meters away, the man pulled the trigger.

His shot was quiet, a mere click as the silencer attached to the front suppressed all noise. Clara felt the world around her slow as a searing burn scraped its way across her temple and just above her ear. Her vision blurred in a static red as her weakened body grew light and slowly fell to the gravel. Her body hit the ground with a loud crunch, her head following with a thump. She could feel a vivid warmth spread down her face in rivers of pure crimson heat. Through speckled vision, she could see the man hastily enter the car and drive off with Charlie in the back.

The girl whimpered, the pain of the graze spreading through every vessel and bone with the pain piercing and puncturing any life it came across. Her vision tunnelled as the rocks beneath her dug uncomfortably into her skin. The air was cold, her clothes were light and her body was still shaking.

Ten...

As the car disappeared down the drive, the girl found that it was more painful for her eyes to remain open as they fluttered and shut sporadically, and so she succumbed to the pain and the darkness that welcomed her home again as her blood spread across the dark stones below.

☆

JOHN SHELBY BOLTED OUT OF THE ESTEEMED BUILDING. In the far distance, he could hear Arthur and Tommy bellowing out for Charlie in separate sections of the outside. The man cut around the parked cars, spit flying from his mouth as he echoed his brothers' words. The man ran but faltered in his rushed tracks as he spotted a body just beyond the cars ahead of him.

"Arthur! Tommy!" He called out, he had yet to see who was laying sprawled across the gravel. The man finally hurried into the open where the body lay and immediately stopped abruptly in his tracks. The body was limp, the hands unmoving, the hair sprawled haphazardly around her head like a halo. John had seen this before. Images of the night of Clara's overdose ran through his mind, her lifeless body flashing incessantly. They'd been here before not too long ago.

The man immediately dropped to his knees beside her head as he ignored the stinging pain of the rocks beneath him. His fingers were quick to press to the underside of her jaw to check if she had a pulse. Letting out a small breath of relief, John carefully lifted the girl's head onto his lap. He didn't say a word as Arthur and Tommy called out for him, instead, his wide eyes remained on the unconscious Clara and the blood pooling from the side of her face.

"Fuck," he swore shakily. Quickly, he shrugged off his jacket and balled it up to press it to the wound on the side of her head. He'd seen enough bullet grazes in his lifetime to recognise how they looked. Clara had been grazed, not shot and John, who never really believed in God, sent a quick thanks to the heavens that whoever pulled the trigger had missed.

"John, go find Moss!" Arthur gruffly yelled, as he and Tommy eventually located him. Both men faltered just as John had. "Fuck..." Arthur echoed.

"She's been grazed," John sniffed, his eyes still examining the girl. "She must've seen someone take him."

"Okay...okay," Arthur let a breath, his eyes flitting between Tommy who shook and slowly spiralled to Clara who remained pale and limp.

"What the fuck is going on out here?!" Ada cried out, her words breathless as she clutched her chest. Her eyes landed on Clara. "Holy—"

"Ada, go find Moss, Junctions, block them all off," Arthur yelled as he stepped up to create some order. The woman, upon taking in the scene ahead of her, was quick to follow the orders as she quickly found her way back inside.

"Arthur, where is he?!" Tommy questioned desperately. Arthur made his way to Tommy, his hands on either side of his younger brother's face. "Where is he? Tell me."

"Someone took him." Tommy immediately pushed Arthur off of him but the older man was quick to catch him and pull him back. "From what I've heard from the guests and nurses, Clara found them out here. They put him in a car and the bastards shot her. They put him in a car and drove south." The man paused as Tommy's distress seeped through, a sight not often seen. "We've got roadblocks, we've got spotters. I'll set up shop and put every man we've got between here and Maypole."

John had stopped listening at that point, his main priority right now was not Arthur soothing Tommy but ensuring that his sister didn't bleed out from something as non-trivial as a bullet graze. His hand pressed firmly against the girl's head, not caring about the blood that seeped through his jacket. Beneath his grip he could feel the girl shift, his chest rose and fell carefully as she stirred. He held her tighter as Pol and Tommy raced out of the premises in a car, presumably to get to the offices in case of a call.

"What the fuck is going on?" Will snarled as he raced towards the two with Arthur quick behind. "I've to fucking hear from a nurse that my best friend has been shot and a bloody baby is missing."

"Watch your mouth, boy," Arthur gritted as he pulled Will's arm back. The boy simply yanked it out of his reach and continued on toward Clara and John.

"I'll watch my mouth when you bloody tell me what happened," Will spat. He joined John on the ground, his fingers pressing over her wrist precariously. This was all too familiar and he hated it. He hated every second.

"She was grazed," John muttered, "she's been out but she's stable, not bleeding too much either. She's been moving too." His knowing eyes met Will's and the Clarke boy nodded solemnly as he leaned back on his heels. Arthur checked his watch before leaving the two with Clara, presumably to sort out men to take a position on various roads.

Clara Shelby awoke with a sudden gasp, her entire body jolting upwards only to be held down. Pain rocketed down her body from her skull as she cried out in discomfort. Her vision spun but was no longer hindered by the speckled dots from before.

"Hey! Relax, Clara girl, relax," John soothed her as if she were a startled horse. "You need to keep still or you'll make the wound worse."

"John?" She choked through her pain. Her hand blindly grasped at John's arm. "I couldn't stop them, they took him. I tried- but...I,"

"It's okay," John nodded, he glanced towards Will who seemed to be surveying every one of Clara's features for any sign of distress and unbearable pain. The man looked back down at his sister who had fallen silent. "Tommy and Pol are gone to the offices, Arthur has men stationed everywhere. We'll get him back." Clara tried to suppress her trembling lip as she nodded, she moved her head to the right slightly, her hand outstretched towards Will, who immediately took it and squeezed it.

John smiled ever so slightly, almost unnoticeably. He watched as they seemed to engage in a silent conversation, the contents forever unknown to him. He watched the two with a certain fondness. They were family, crafted in the streets and maintained through the years. It seemed to be at that moment that John realised that with Will she was in the safest hands she probably could be. The man cleared his throat as he shifted in his position on the uncomfortable floor.

"I'm sorry to do this, but Clara, I need to go help Arthur, you know how he is with these things." He sighed, "Keep pressure on that wound, it shouldn't need stitches and Clarke? Be a good man and drive her home. Keep her safe."

"Always do," Will said firmly, his grateful eyes meeting John's as the man carefully moved Clara off of his lap and into Will's. "I got you, Shelby."

The girl hummed as she opted to remain on the ground until her dizziness allowed her to see straight. The sky above was darkening and Clara could only lie down and hope that Charlie was okay wherever he was.

☆

NIGHT HAD APPROACHED THE DOORSTEP OF NUMBER six Watery Lane quicker than expected. Will had been forced to leave Clara's side once night had fallen. He'd been called into work, and because the girl's head was no longer bleeding and most of her strength had returned, Clara had promptly urged him to leave. The girl sat on the seat in the living room with a cold rag across her head as her eyes remained shut to try to ease the pulsing pain.

"Clara, love?" Pol spoke up as she lingered in the doorway. The young girl groaned dramatically and opened her eyes. "Join us in the den?"

Clara didn't say a word as she clutched the armchair she sat in and lifted herself. Pol was quick to be at her side to steady her as a bout of dizziness wracked through her frame and left her blind for a mere few seconds.

"'m fine, Pol," Clara grumbled as she attempted to separate herself from her aunt. "Any update on Charlie?"

"That bloody priest is outside with Tommy now," Pol scowled, as they slowly made their way towards the betting den. "They cornered Ada on her way in. Will gone home?"

"Work," Clara answered briefly, tiredly waving her hand as they entered the den. Arthur stood over one of the tables pouring drinks whilst Ada stood anxiously in the doorway.

The silence hung around the room as the tension thickened, each of them waiting for Tommy to rejoin them. The girl slowly lowered herself into a seat at one of the tables. She could feel her heartbeat in her skull as it thrummed and pumped an erratic beat. With each pump of blood came a wave of pain. It felt as if some working sod had taken a sledgehammer to her brain and repeatedly hammered it. Clara had suffered her fair share of head injuries and also a fair share of bloody hangovers but this pain was far worse and far more pestering.

"Where's Linda?" Was the first thing Tommy said as he stormed into the den, dripping rainwater onto the wooden floor with each step he took. The girl watched him carefully as he came to a stop in the middle of the room, right in front of where she was sitting.

"With Esme," Arthur was quick to answer as the family soon gathered in the middle.

"Esme's water broke." John strode into the room and joined the group as he stood just beside Clara who remained seated. "I was just with her. Running around, fucking broke her waters."

"Where is Finn?" Tommy then questioned,

"Out with the young'uns, looking for the Riley." Arthur once again spoke as he sipped from his glass. "We couldn't reach him."

"I need to know who spoke." Tommy's voice was dangerously low as he looked around at those gathered. "Our enemies know everything. Everything. I need to know who spoke about business outside of the family. I need to know who spoke and who they spoke to, now."

"Tommy, listen, uh..."

"Your wife, Arthur?!"

Clara held her breath as her brother glared at the eldest Shelby brother. A feeling of dread knotted itself in her stomach as she sat up straighter in her chair. Her eyes glanced upwards towards John, who was already looking down at her. His eyes spoke a thousand words, the most prevalent being 'are you okay?'. Clara moved her head down in a subtle half-nod before she refocused on her older brothers.

"I am going to tell myself that you are not thinking straight." Arthur said lowly, "Your mind is not clear."

"Or Esme getting cash for cocaine, eh, John?" Tommy pushed, now turning to John, who tensed up beside Clara.

"Fuck!" John scorned, his hatred seeping through his singular word.

"All of a sudden, back in the family, Ada, eh?" Tommy spitefully spoke. His monotonous tone drilled holes in Clara's respect for him. "That is a surprise. Out of the blue...on whose orders?"

"Tommy, this is not helping find him." Pol cut in smoothly. Clara could tell the woman was becoming rattled at his accusations.

"And you and your painter? You said he knows you. Things developed. You talked." Tommy venomously remarked, he turned back to the group, his voice more of a hiss. "If anyone has talked about the tunnel to anyone else, I need to know, and I need to know this second." Tommy paused as his eyes landed on his injured sister. "What about you, Clara? Did you tell one of your London affairs, eh?"

"Are you being fuckin' serious, right now?" Clara seethed, her anger overpowered any semblance of sense.

"Or maybe you used it to get more snow in London?" Tommy furthered, his eyes narrowing on the girl who vibrated in rage.

"How dare you," Clara snapped. Whilst she pitied the man for losing his son, she couldn't pity him when his words set out to purposefully diminish those around him.

"What about your clay kickers?" John stepped in and spoke through gritted teeth. Arthur hummed in agreement. "Drunk in a pub?"

"I trust those men with my life," Tommy replied, and Clara scoffed. The rest of the family shook their heads in utter disbelief.

"More than you trust us?" Arthur asked in incredulity.

"Yes. As of an hour ago, yes."

"Why is Michael not in this fuckin' line-up, anyway?" John remarked bitterly.

"You leave Michael out of this," Pol immediately jumped in to defend her son. Clara's fingers found their way to her temples as she tried to massage away the growing ache.

"Oh, yeah?"

"No, he should be here." Arthur agreed as he fixed his hat.

"I fucking don't even know him. How long have you fuckin' known him?" John continued. It was obvious Tommy's distrust had forged the way for complete anarchy within the meeting. The arguing only worsened Clara's headache. "Fucking three years?"

"No, he is not going to be your whipping boy." Pol derided, as she held out a finger pointedly.

"I don't even fucking know the boy."

"I never told Michael about the Lilies of the Valley." Tommy interrupted John. Clara's eyes lifted to observe his restless gaze. "The only people I told about the Fabergé eggs are in this room."

"Tommy, I want you to know that I came back for love," Ada spoke up slowly and deliberately, "...and common sense." The woman looked over the group once more before bypassing Tommy to leave the room.

Clara was next to stand up despite every bone in her body ordering her not to.

"I almost got shot in the fuckin' head trying to protect your son while you were taking pretty little pictures to keep up with your status," She said shortly, her tone pointed as she venomously narrowed her gaze at her brother. "So don't you dare insinuate I had something to do with this." The girl went to move away but felt John's hand place itself on her shoulder.

"And Esme's got no need for extra cash," John added, it was then he put his arm around Clara's waist to steady her and the two exited the betting den as Tommy watched them. John lingered in the door frame as he awaited Arthur. The eldest Shelby sibling muttered something to Tommy before he joined them at the door. Just as the three were about to leave, Tommy called out for them.

"John, Arthur," he approached the three but remained focused on his two brothers. "I need 50 sticks of BSA dynamite and 300 yards of cable and six detonators by midday tomorrow. And this is evidence. I need you to scatter it. We're blowing up a train, and people are going to die."

Clara shook her head disdainfully and broke free of John's grip on her. She ignored the pointed looks she was receiving from all three of her brothers. The girl patted John on the shoulder before she made her way towards the stairs of number six Watery Lane. She couldn't bear to remain in Tommy Shelby's presence anymore, it made her incessant headache far more agonising.

The girl held her head in her hand as she climbed the stairs, whatever would happen with the rest of the family that night, she didn't care. For once she couldn't care at all, she just wanted to crawl into bed a die a slow death because anything would be less painful than the thrum of the pain in her mind and the distrust that filled the family home.

☆

HELLO, MY WONDERFUL AND BEAUTIFUL READERS! It's been a hot minute since I've updated, and I've missed you all!

FIRSTLY, Trouble has a new cover (which I adore) and we've also been growing in readers which is incredible, so to everyone new and old, hello, how are you guys today?!

SECONDLY, after 19 chapters of Act three, the next one is *potentially* the last of the Act! That means season four/Act Four is just around the corner and I can't wait for you guys to see what I have in store for you!

ANYWAYS, I LOVE YOU ALL AND here's your weekly meme(s)!