Seeing Grace behind the bar made me stop for half a second longer than I meant to.
She wasn't loud about her beauty. It didn't demand attention—but it held it. Pale skin, almost translucent under the low light. Light hair pulled back neatly. Calm blue eyes that took in the room without ever seeming to stare.
She didn't belong here.
And that alone made her stand out.
Her gaze met mine briefly, curious but measured. Not shy. Not bold either. Just… alert.
I stepped closer to the bar.
"Evening," I said. My voice came out steady. "Haven't seen you here before."
She studied my face before answering. "Grace," she said simply. "I started recently."
I nodded. "Jack Shelby."
The name landed between us.
I saw the hesitation—just a flicker—but it was there. She masked it quickly, polite smile returning.
"Well," I added calmly, "you needn't worry. We're not as frightening as people like to say."
That earned me a look. Not amused. Not offended. Assessing.
"I'll remember that," she replied.
I stepped back, letting the moment end on its own terms.
"We'll be seeing each other around," I said.
"I expect so," she answered.
As I turned away, I felt it—that faint pressure behind my eyes again. Not a warning. Not a command.
Just awareness.
This place matters, I thought. And so does she.
I pushed through the door behind the bar.
The noise of the Garrison fell away, replaced by the quiet weight of the back room.
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Tommy Shelby sat at the table, newspaper spread before him. Arthur Shelby leaned back to his right, arms crossed. John Shelby sat beside him, eyes sharp and unforgiving.
Tommy lowered the paper slowly.
That stare hit me square in the chest.
"What are you doing back here?" he asked evenly. "Thought the sight of blood made you freeze these days."
John didn't wait. "You gonna lock up again next time things get messy, eh?"
I didn't react.
The old Jack would've flinched. Would've gone quiet. Let the words sink into him like shrapnel.
I stood there instead.
"I'm here to work," I said. "If you'll have me."
Arthur scoffed softly. John looked unconvinced.
Tommy watched.
"I know I haven't been right," I continued, careful with my words. "The war did what it did. I won't pretend otherwise."
I paused.
"But I'm standing here now."
The room stayed quiet.
Finally, Tommy folded the newspaper and set it aside.
"There's plenty to be done," he said. "More than ever. We've got plans—big ones. And I don't carry dead weight."
I nodded once.
"For now," he continued, "you'll make yourself visible. Let the new lads see you. Remind them who you are."
My pulse quickened—not from fear, but recognition.
Reputation, I thought.
Tommy glanced toward Arthur. "Give him a couple men."
Arthur tilted his head. "For what?"
"Protection money," Tommy said. "We're owed."
Then he looked back at me.
"Bring it back. No noise. No mistakes."
A familiar pressure settled behind my eyes.
This was it.
The test.
"Have a drink before you go," Tommy added, almost casually. "Good to have us all together again."
I took the seat, lifting the glass when it was handed to me. The whiskey burned—but it grounded me.
As I drank, my thoughts moved quickly.
This isn't about the money.
It was about being seen doing the work. About standing where a Shelby was expected to stand. About reminding the men—and the family—that Jack Shelby was still breathing.
I finished the drink and stood.
The system didn't speak.
It didn't need to.
ACTIVE TASK: Earn 50 ReputationCurrent Reputation:15 / 50
I adjusted my coat and headed for the door.