Chapter 1

The mist in the air was fresh, dewy and soft. The grounds around the Shelby Estate smelled of rain. The damp earth and moist blades of grass squished in the field under Thomas Shelby's feet. All he could see was Grace, his heart, wooing him towards death.

The ghosts he'd been hearing now for months, the inhale and exhale of death that had been breathing down his neck, were reaching a crescendo. The voices got louder and louder until he was sure they'd manifested themselves into the physical realm. He must have already died, for how else could he hear their souls breathing?

A black horse galloped through the fog, surely one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, for it was nigh.

Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders had finally met his match. And he wasn't even sure who it was. He just knew Mosley was a puppet in comparison. It was someone bigger. Nameless. Someone who would come for every man, woman, and child that called themselves Jewish or gypsy.

Fascism was a disease, spreading to every corner of Europe. He could feel it in his bones. Another war was coming. The entire world had been building up to it, and now it was only a matter of time before he was called again to serve.

But Thomas knew he wouldn't live through it this time. There were only so many times one could die, and he'd reached his limit.

She was there, gentle and open as she'd always been. "It's all done Tommy," her soft Irish accent cooed at him. "It's all done. We can walk away from all this."

Her voice was oxygen. It was a relief. It was everything he needed to hear. He'd needed her permission to end it all. And now he had it.

"It's so easy. So soft," she coaxed, and those simple words sealed his fate. "Such a small change."

Thomas Shelby, for the last time, was at the end of his rope.

He pressed the trigger on the gun, screaming for the end as the snow fell in his eyes.

The gun went off. His cry of pain echoed through the marshy fields and cut through the swirling fog like a knife.

He opened his eyes, expecting to see Grace standing before him with open arms, ready to lead him to the other side.

But some part of him knew he wasn't good enough to deserve that.

He dropped the gun, falling to his knees.

There was no blood dripping hot down his neck, or pain in his head, or any sensations he'd expected from offing himself.

But maybe that's how quick it had been.

Who knew death was going to be so painless?

But that's what she's said.

So easy. So soft. Such a small change.

When his eyes finally focused, he didn't see his wife. Just the shadow of a black horse, disappearing into the mist.

And a maiden of shadow dismounting from the horse.

She was in a ripped black dress, barefoot, as she walked through the damp earth, one foot in front of the other with the grace of a goddess.

She walked as though she were weightless, her delicate wrists aloft in the air, her head tilted towards him curiously, the way a dog does when it comes across something curious.

She had hair as dark as freshly plowed earth that fell down her back in ringlets and waves, her skin was pale as moonlight and her eyes were a steely pale blue.

The eyes of a corpse. The color of death.

"Have you come to take me to hell?" Thomas asked. Still on his knees.

The girl held the reins of the black horse in her hand. It snuggled into her face, neighing softly. "I'm looking for someone." She had an accent he couldn't place. It was almost Londoner, but not quite.

His toes were numb from the cold. Surely he wouldn't feel the sting of frostbite if he were dead.

Thomas pressed a hand to his chest.

His heartbeat was erratic but it was still there.

He picked up the gun again and opened the chamber.

There were only three bullets inside. He hadn't shot himself with a full-chambered gun. The round that went off against his head had been a blank.

Which meant he was still alive.

He looked up at the woman, slowly coming back to a standing position.

He was a head taller than her, but regardless of this she held her head up high and she showed no hint of girlish shyness or demure.

So she wasn't the ingénue he'd thought she was. This girl looked liek she belonged out here, in the mist and fog, barefoot in the fields among black horses and mystery.

"Who are you looking for?" he asked her, starting to come back to his senses.

"My mother," she said. "I was taken from her when I was very young."

Once she'd said that, something clicked in Thomas' mind.

And then he saw it.

The same heart-shaped face, the same willowy frame that he'd seen dancing around fires for as long as he could remember.

Thomas saw it in every feature. The color of her hair, the sharpness in her eyes. Her high cheekbones that complimented her soft mouth, shaped in a permanent pout.

He knew this woman like he knew the lines in his hand.

He was looking at his Aunt Polly.

He gawked at her in shock and awe. "What's your name?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Anna," she said softly. "Anna Gray."

Author's note: Hey guys :D let me know what you think of the first chapter! And as always, I'm building a playlist ;D To be continued…