I stared at the man in the mirror and tried to understand what crime I must've committed in a past life to deserve this.
In my old life, I did everything right. Studied hard. Graduated top of my class. Had an interview lined up that was supposed to change everything.
Instead, there was a truck.
I remembered the screech of brakes, the flash of headlights, and then—Black.
Now I was standing in a cramped little room with peeling wallpaper and a bed that looked like it had survived two wars. My reflection stared back at me—sharp cheekbones, tired eyes, a face that wasn't mine.
"What the fuck…" I muttered.
Did that truck really have to be there?
The door slammed open.
"Oi! What the fuck are you doing, Jack?" Jon Shelby barked, cigarette already hanging from his mouth. "Tommy wants us. Family meeting."
His thick Brummie accent hit me like a punch to the ribs.
My stomach dropped.
No. No, no, no.
I wasn't just somewhere else.
I was Jack Shelby.
Jack fucking Shelby—the twin brother of Jon Shelby. A man who didn't exist in the show. A ghost written between the lines.
I was so fucked.
I followed Jon down the narrow hallway, my head pounding as fragments of memory surfaced—memories that weren't mine, yet felt disturbingly familiar.
The original Jack Shelby had been quiet. Calm. The most like Tommy out of all of them. Thoughtful. Controlled.
The war had broken that.
Shells. Screams. Blood soaked into mud. Orders followed without question. Things done that could never be undone.
At night, the memories came back. Every night.
So he drank. Smoked. Anything to numb the noise.
Yesterday, he'd stumbled home from the pub. Slipped. Cracked his head.
And that was it.
Jack Shelby was gone.
And I was here.
"Well if it isn't Jacky boy," Arthur said when we entered the room, a crooked grin on his face. "What took you so long, eh?"
Jon snorted. "Jack here seems a bit slow today. That fall must've knocked a few screws loose." He took a long drag from his cigarette.
I forced a weak smirk and said nothing.
Tommy stood at the head of the table, eyes cold and calculating, already watching me. I felt like he could see straight through my skin.
"Now that we're all here," Arthur said, leaning forward, "there's news from Belfast."
The room went still.
"A copper's coming to Birmingham," Arthur continued. "Sent to clean up the city."
"A crackdown's coming," he added, turning to Tommy. "You know anything about this?"
Tommy exhaled slowly. "I know enough."
Jon slammed his hand on the table. "Let 'em come. We're Peaky Blinders, damn it. We'll cut the smiles right off their faces if they touch us."
My heart sank.
It's the guns, I thought. The stolen guns.
That's why he was coming.
Inspector Campbell.
I swallowed.
How the hell do I fit into all this?
The Shelbys weren't just bookmakers anymore. They ran betting, protection rackets, intimidation jobs. Black-market deals. Smuggling. Anything that paid.
The original Jack had been knee-deep in it—collecting money, enforcing debts, standing beside Jon when reputation alone was enough to make men fold.
But that Jack was dead.
And I wasn't ruthless enough.
Yet.
The meeting ended, and I drifted back toward my room, my skull pounding harder with every step.
"Christ," I muttered. "Do they even have aspirin here?"
My vision blurred.
The floor tilted.
Then—
Ding.
A sound that didn't belong in 1919 Birmingham echoed in my head.
Mafia System Activated
I froze.
"…What?"