CHAPTER ONE:
LIFE'S CIRCLE

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THE MORTAL COIL, AS Ailsa had realised a long time ago, was a serpent reaping the punishment of its own existence. With its tail trapped between the venomously damning bite of its teeth, the serpent devouring itself reminded Ailsa of what would always wait for her; for her family, her daughter.

Her mother once said, in a state of delirium as the last light faded from her jaded eyes, that the Grim Reaper existed solely to tear the souls from Shelby bodies. By blood, or by association alone, they would rot one-by-one, in their very own state of purgatory.

I see him, she wheezed into the cool air of her bedroom. Her skin was pale and frozen, her lungs fading from the hypothermic shock caused by throwing herself into The Cut on the coldest day of Winter. Not even a week ago, Finn was born. Everything was fine. Teenage Ailsa desperately pretended not to notice her mother's lips turning blue. He's standing in the corner, watching me.

There was no doubt that Ailsa loved her mother with her whole heart and more, but the idea had always struck her as a tad self-absorbant. That God could possibly detest them so much he shaped Hell in their image seemed ludicrious almost. Then, on one rainy morning as her younger brother mourned for a wife unfairly taken instead of him, Ailsa momentarily wondered if her doubt had been misplaced. If, perhaps, the Shelby matriarch was right from the start.

That this was only the beginning.

Tommy loomed over Grace's headstone with his head bowed low. His face was expressionless, but his eyes burned with the fury of a man who was used to outwitting Death. Who, while previously untouchable, was now open for the taking. Once, Ailsa would've moved to rest her hand on his shoulder, way back when her brother was a mere boy innocent and free of the weight of war and bloodshed. Now, she stood with Faith beside her, Charlie in her arms clinging to the folds of her black dress. He didn't understand, not really, that his mother's life was reduced to mere fragments now. To a rock, his memory, and a young mind that would never truly be able to capture the essence of Grace Shelby.

Ailsa pitied him. She held him tighter as Tommy continued in low words, voice hollow like the silence after a gunshot. She couldn't really take in what he said. Every so often, he'd gesture aimlessly at his son in her arms, Grace's only legacy, and then continue the speech he'd rehearsed to near perfection. He was lifeless, had come so close only to lose everything when he got comfortable.

The great Tommy Shelby had grown complacent and how his wife was dead. Ailsa feared what he'd become now. Surely, he would not make the same mistake again. The last pieces of her baby brother were to be buried alongside his wife's coffin. Ailsa was helpless to that fact.

Afterwards, the family returned to Arrow House, a holy procession of mourning. Charlie refused to part from her side, his lower lip jutting into a sad pout when his father didn't so much as spare him a glance before he disappeared into his office. The heavy oak door slammed shut. For a moment, the family hovered in uncertainty.

"Best we leave him for now," Polly decided for them.

Her authoritative tone left no room for an argument, despite Arthur's displeased grunting and John's furrowed brows. Beneath the weight of Polly Gray's challenging stare, the familiar scent of her aunt's cigarette perched between two fingers, Ailsa was a kid again. Her own daughter's age, if not younger. Youthful and afraid to defy, put off by the thought of Polly's wrath. Arthur and John seemed to be thinking the same thing, for John sulked beside Esme and Arthur eventually dropped into the seat beside Ailsa, downing the last of her whiskey much to her annoyance.

"Really, Arthur?"

"Can't be drinking in front of Charlie-boy, Ails," Arthur winked and ruffled his nephew's hair. Charlie offered up a gap-toothed smile, seemingly forgetting his father's resentment of him.

"He's a toddler, Arthur," Ailsa rolled her eyes, attempting to snatch Arthur's own glass to no avail.

"Faith, then."

"I'm fifteen, Uncle Arthur," Faith scowled, looking every bit like her mother as she hovered beside Finn, who was more her brother than her uncle with only a year separating them. Whenever Ailsa had her head turned, Finn would search for the nearest drink, only to be thwarted by Faith and her pesky ability to seek out trouble. Faith Buchanan-Shelby was the definition of a goodie-two-shoes, a teenage martyr with a family of anti-heroes. "You should be more concerned about Finn than me. I'm not the one with a glass of rum hidden behind my back."

"Hey!" Finn frowned, seeing no point in denying it as Arthur laughed and Aunt Polly smacked him over the head then took his drink. "That's Uncle Finn to you, Blabbermouth."

Now that Tommy was noticeably absent, the family had fallen into its familiar routine. Faith and Finn were arguing pointlessly with an uncomfortable Michael and an unamused Ada stuck in the middle. John had an arm strewn around Esme's shoulders and was whispering in her ear. It was like nothing had really changed; at least, not at first glance. Arthur's new wife, Linda, had chosen not to attend the funeral (not that she was missed all that much) and Polly was unnaturally quiet as she switched between monitoring Tommy's office and scolding Faith and Finn when they got too loud. Ailsa tried her best to keep Charlie smiling, but the facade only lasted so long before Polly came over to scoop him out of her arms.

"Go," she nodded to the door. "See what he wants you to do."

"Me?" Ailsa frowned, suddenly hesitant.

It wasn't that Ailsa feared her brother, but a grieving Tommy was unpredictable. Before the war, he wouldn't have thought twice in confiding with his big sister. But after, he came home a stranger. Ailsa hadn't hugged him in a long time let alone shared her secrets. She wondered if Tommy already knew, if, in playing God, he had a new insight that made a conventional brother-sister relationship unnessecary.

"Go on," Polly merely ushered her along, keenly aware of the way both Arthur and John seemed to tense. "Before Tweedledee and Tweedledum get their knickers in a twist."

So Ailsa knocked on Tommy's office door, waiting only a second before letting herself in. The room was dead quiet, but Ailsa heard nothing from the other side. Tommy didn't notice her presence at first. He stood beside the window, back to the door, staring through the sheer white curtains at the desolate yard.

"Tom?" Slowly, she moved to stand beside him, waiting.

Ailsa was only one year Tommy's senior, and yet he seemed decades older, exhaustion set in the furrowed lines of his face. He handed her a cigarette without so much as a glance. Ailsa took the matchbox from his discarded jacket and lit the end. Together, they smoked and watched the rain trickle down the window. When they were kids around Charlie's age, they'd follow the droplets in their race to the bottom, shouting which one they were certain would win. Instinctively, even then, Ailsa's eyes picked her victor.

"Faith and I should leave soon," she said, the smoke of her cigarette fogging up the glass. "If we want to catch the last train home." Tommy didn't answer at first. His stare was vacant, like he wasn't truly present in his own body. "Is that alright, Tom? Do you need me to stay?"

Suddenly, he turned to her, a flicker of emotion flashing in his eyes. He buried it deep but Ailsa saw it. She always saw right through him. Go, his scowl seemed to command. But men never openly said what they wanted, even brothers to sisters. Where his scowl pushed her away, his emotions that flickered like a flame in his gaze begged her to stay, even for just one more night.

"I think I might stay then," she answered her own question. "If you don't mind Faith and I taking up your space for a few more days."

"'Course not," he spoke at last, voice hoarse and lifeless. "There's work to be done. Charlie's going to need some company."

Ailsa nodded. Her disapproval on the matter would mean nothing to him, it would only push him further away. If this was his way of coping, she could stomach it and watch over Charlie for as long as it took. Besides, it didn't seem fair to leave the poor boy alone in this big house where the parental care he needed would undoubtedly die with Grace. Her brother was a far better father than their own, but sometimes he fell short.

"Do you want to see anyone else?" Tommy shook his head. "Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

He wouldn't but the offer remained. Ailsa took her leave then, retreating out into the kitchen where every eye on her was notably cautious.

"Is he alright?" Ada broke the sudden silence.

Ailsa nodded then turned to Faith, who had been busy scolding Finn while the adults conversed. "Dearest, we're going to stay with Uncle Tommy and Charlie for a few more days."

Faith didn't seem to mind. She didn't even openly react beyond a grim smile she shot her mother's way before Finn said something or other to get her going again. It was like this in the days that followed. The family came and went -- Finn more than anyone; he denied it, but he enjoyed Faith's company -- while Ailsa lingered, stuck in a strange state of in-between.

Arrow House reminded her of the purgatory spoken into existence by her mother's dying breath. It was cold and quiet. The patriarch only left his study to haunt his wife's grave in the darkest hour of the night. Ailsa swore she could feel Grace's presence in every shadowed corridor, a sorrowful omen of what waited around each corner. Every room marked for death.

Here, Ailsa's secrets became whispers. She was ready to leave by the time Tommy called the first meeting and the rest of the family returned. First came Ada, who returned from London with her own overnight bag and Karl in tow. Then Polly and Michael, who Tommy had requested to see first. Ailsa was just waiting on John and Arthur to see their reaction.

"He's back," Ada called from the sitting room.

Ailsa hurried after Michael to where her sister waited by the window, the curtains parted far enough to reveal the central courtyard where Tommy had arrived on horseback. If he knew his family were spying from the window, he certainly didn't show it.

"Was he out there all night?" Michael asked.

"I believe so," Ada glanced at Ailsa for confirmation.

"Every night since the funeral," she muttered as she removed the apron she'd donned in the morning when Faith insisted on pancakes for breakfast. Charlie had agreed, his face glowing at the thought, and Ailsa couldn't say no. "He comes back to check on Charles and feed his horses. Sits for hours in that office of his. When it gets dark, he disappears. Over and over."

"He used to sleep out when he was a kid. Curly would find him in the pasture," Polly shared, lowering the newspaper she'd been reading until Ailsa started talking. She smiled softly in her eldest niece's direction, something melancholic captured in the curve of her mouth. "You did the same thing, my girl."

"Not like this," she murmured, watching Tommy climb the front steps until he was out of sight. A moment later, they heard the front door swing open.

"And the baby?" Polly continued, unbothered by Tommy's gloomy presence. "How is he?"

At that, Ailsa heaved a sigh. "He cries for her at night, but I think he likes having Faith and I around. She's got him wanting pancakes now."

Polly chuckled. "That's our Faith for you."

Tommy's footsteps grew closer, echoing in the empty halls until they were almost outside the door. "He's made a list," Ada declared, sharing a grim look with Ailsa as Polly and Michael moved closer to read over her shoulder. "He wants to see you two first."

"What about John and Arthur?" Polly frowned.

Neither sister had a chance to reply as the living room door slammed open. In came Tommy. He didn't look their way once as he marched for his office. That door slammed too, leaving Ailsa to shoot the others a see what I mean? look. Polly sighed and sipped the last of her tea.

"Come on then," she took Michael's arm.

"Best not keep him waiting," Ailsa agreed.

Not long after the door closed behind them, John and Arthur show up. Ailsa barely had time to blink before Arthur scooped her up in a bear hug, his blasted moustache scratching her skin as he kissed her on the cheek.

"You alright, sister?"

Ailsa felt something inside her crack. Out of everyone apart from Tommy, Arthur had always understood her most. She knew every dark part of him like he knew those parts of her, and he loved her anyway. He always had a way of making her heart hurt.

"I'm alright," she confirmed, squeezing him once before letting go. Clearing her throat, she asked, "How is Linda?"

"She's Linda," Arthur grunted, shrugging when Ailsa rolled her eyes. "I dunno."

"Such a way with words, Arthur," Ada sighed.

She was busy pouring John a drink as he tended to the fire and cursed the weather for being 'cold enough to humiliate even the strongest of men.' Ailsa snorted in amusement, making her way over to snatch his cap off his head while Ada offered Arthur a drink too.

"Men like you, you mean?"

John grinned slyly. "Who else, eh?"

All too soon, the office door opened. Arthur was quick to down the drink Ada handed to him, rising to his feet eagerly. "Right," he clapped his hands together. "Let's go."

"Oh, we've already seen him," Polly said, perhaps wondering why they hadn't been told already.

And just like that, John's grin faded. His stare was nothing short of accusing as he and Arthur turned to glare at Ailsa and Ada. Well? his expression demanded an answer.

"He wanted to see people in a particular order," Ada mumbled.

Neither of them replied.

Polly took that as her queue to intervene. "I can normally read him, but he's... difficult to read right now, so be careful."

But if Ailsa knew her brothers, she knew they weren't going to let it go that easily.

"I thought it was a fucking family meeting," John scoffed, to which Arthur grunted his agreement and Ailsa sighed. The sound seemed to infuriate John, whose jaw clenched as she pinched the bridge of her nose and let her eyes squeeze shut for a second. "All of us together, I thought."

"John, he's grieving," Polly placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "To see everyone together would be too much--"

Ailsa stepped forward when John shoved Polly's arm away. She didn't think, just smacked him over the back of the head. "Watch it," she snapped, glowering when John rounded on her. "You forget who you're with, John Shelby."

That was enough for Arthur. He roused himself, carefully nudging Ailsa aside as he headed for the office. But John sat obtsinately in his chair, glaring at Michael like he was to blame for Tommy's choices. Ailsa sighed again. Men and their petty jealousy.

"Arthur, we need him back," Polly called after him, her words rooting Arthur in place. "Sabini and Solomons have already sent condolences and flowers, so it won't be long before they come trotting up the A1 like wolves."

Ailsa was careful to keep her face blank as she watched his revelation wash over her brothers. John's chair screeched against the floor as he stood. He stared down Michael, searching for a reaction even as Ailsa crossed her arms and blocked his view. She waited until he turned and trudged after Arthur.

"And only good news," Polly shouted one last order.

"There is only good news, Pol," Arthur snapped, and that was that.

"Those boys are going to be the death of me," Ailsa huffed, to which Polly made a noise of agreement. "Michael, pour your favourite cousin a whiskey. I need to sit."

Michael laughed but obliged. He came to sit beside her with two glass tumblers in hand. He offered one to Ailsa while sipping from the other. "And you?" he asked once some of the tension had bled from Ailsa's shoulders. Ada and Polly had taken to whispering by the window. Ailsa caught Arthur and John's names more than once. "When's Tommy seeing you?"

Ailsa's expression tightened. "I'm not on the list, but I think I'll go in next."

Michael hesitated. "And you're sure that's a good idea?"

Ailsa didn't have much of a chance to answer before Arthur and John barrelled through in a haze of fury. Ada and Polly were quick to follow them, leaving Michael to squeeze Ailsa's shoulder once for luck. He waited until she'd crossed the room and closed the office door behind her.

"It seems you forgot to put my name on your list, Thomas," she commented, turning slowly to stare at her brother when the scratching sound of his pen refused to let up. "Tommy, look at me."

"I'm busy, Ailsa."

"Shame," she scoffed. "So was I. In London."

That caught his attention. He threw his pen down, blue eyes stony as they traced her features. Her brother was tired, but exhaustion in a Shelby man only made him angry. Ailsa was prepared for it when he shoved the paper's off his desk in one fatal swoop.

"No one's fucking making you stay, Ailsa," he snapped until he was red in the face. "You're free to fuck off back to London whenever you like."

For a while, Ailsa was quiet. She helped herself to another drink, sitting down in the chair opposite Tommy despite the muscle that ticked warningly in his jaw. She reached for a smoke. Grudgingly, he shoved one into her hand.

"I understand you're hurting--"

"You don't."

"I do," she snapped. "I was in your position once. So was Ada. You're not achieving anything by ignoring us."

Like a petulant toddler, Tommy sunk further into his seat. He picked up his pen again, effectively dismissing her as he reached for the paper he'd been scribbling on. Ailsa watched him with vague interest. She contemplated leaning over to read it when Tommy folded the paper up and shoved it into an envelope.

"You can go back to London," he repeated, but there was something rough in his voice now. Something dangerous. A warning. A declaration that nothing ever remained hidden from Tommy Shelby. Not for long. "I know you hate the family business, or so you say, but I need you to deliver a letter."

"No," she immediately shook her head. "We're not playing this game, Thomas. Send John or Arthur."

Tommy glared. "I don't think you'd appreciate John or Arthur learning that you're fucking Alfie Solomons." He seemed to relish in the way her face paled. When her hand dropped, he took the burning cigarette and smothered it in the glass bowl he kept on the table. "Take the letter, Ailsa. He'd have known it was coming sooner or later. Take it."

So she did.

She knew then, that from this moment forward, nothing would ever be the same.