THE NEXT STOP: Cheltenham.

That's what Evelyn had been told for the last two weeks. She waited for the day to come, passing time within the four walls of Ada's parlor by entertaining Karl or sharing Romani tales with Polly.

No one would let her leave unless she was under someone else's supervision. Occasionally, Ada let her join her at the markets, or Thomas would take her to the docks to help Curly with the horses at night. But even those moments were rare, the outings tense. Evelyn had a false sense of freedom. Anyone suspecting her —any inkling of recognition— was a threat.

Even the Peaky Blinders weren't safe. They moved under cover of darkness, holding meetings inside Small Heath after midnight and returning to Ada's by sunrise. Nobody truly slept. During the day, the Shelby brothers rotated surveillance, watching the outside of Ada's home for Danior's soldiers. If they weren't watching, they were outside the city limits at the Lees encampment, gathering information on how Danior moved and how his men patrolled the Garrison and the betting shops.

The situation was causing strain among everyone. Two days earlier, John and Arthur had gotten into a screaming match outside Ada's home over who drank the last of the whiskey. Arthur swung his fist, John hit the dirt, and it all went downhill from there. It took Thomas and Freddie minutes to pull them apart, but by then, the damage was done. The scene had drawn enough attention that passersbys had stopped, all eyes fixed on the men, singling them out.

That night, Polly decided they couldn't risk staying in one place much longer. It was time for the Peaky Blinders to strike, and the earliest opportunity was the upcoming weekend.

"It's the perfect moment for redemption," Polly told the group. They were in Throne's kitchen, with Evelyn tending to the gash on John's eyebrow while Ada cleaned Arthur's smashed knuckles. "Johnny Dogs got word that Danior won't be there — only handful of his men for protection and to skim off the bets. The Lees can take them out, and we can get in to talk to Kimber."

"Won't that just give us away?" Evelyn asked nervously, the damp cloth in her fingers slipping.

"Well, thanks to my idiot brothers, I'm sure Danior already knows they're here," Ada grumbled.

"There is one way," Thomas murmured, his blue stare sliding in Evelyn's direction.

The room grew silent, the only noise coming from the small shuffling of Karl's feet as he wove in and out from under the table with a wooden toy soldier. Every single pair of eyes fixed on her, expectantly.

The bloodied, wet cloth in Evelyn's hand dropped into John's lap.

"Uh-huh," Evelyn shook her head, leaning back in the wooden chair, "No way."

"It makes sense," Arthur chimed in, "He don't know ya, and he likes a pretty face."

"He knows my father," Evelyn said harshly, crossing her arms. "That's enough for me to want to stay far away from him."

"If it has to be a woman, I could talk to him," Ada suggested lightly.

Thomas's gaze cut through the room to his sister like a sharp knife. "No," he argued. "I'm not letting you near Kimber. He can't keep his hands to himself."

He can't keep his hands to himself. Evelyn's mouth went dry, her pulse quickening. There seemed to be an underlying implication to the plan, one that involved something more physical than just a simple meeting. She could scarcely believe it.

"But you'll let him near Evelyn?" Ada retorted, cocking a thin eyebrow. "That hardly seems fair."

"It's not your son who's been taken from you," Thomas replied, his voice resolute, as if this fact settled everything else from here on out.

Furiously, Evelyn sprang to her feet, her fingers clutching the fabric of her skirt. "I will not go near that man. I am not your whore."

Evelyn stormed out of the kitchen, her bare feet thundering against the stairs as she took them two at a time. She couldn't fathom Thomas's audacity, to even suggest she submit herself to such a repugnant plan. Every fiber of her being recoiled at the thought, the idea dredging up a stain in her memory that she had long struggled to erase.

Without realizing it, she found herself in Karl's room. The nursery was quiet, the air thick with the scent of fresh paint and varnished wood. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the floor. Evelyn stood frozen in the doorway, her heart pounding against her ribcage like a caged bird.

The room was small, filled with the soft outlines of a crib, a rocking chair, and shelves lined with neatly stacked toys —knitted animals, wooden blocks. It was a world that felt so far from her own, a place that held whispers of joy and laughter that she would never know.

Evelyn had never let herself in this space, for obvious reasons. She stepped inside, her hands trembling slightly as they brushed over the smooth surface of the crib. It felt wrong to be here, surrounded by reminders of what she had lost. Each item seemed to mock her, a stark contrast to the emptiness that gnawed at her heart.

"Why couldn't I protect you?" she whispered, her voice barely breaking the stillness. She closed her eyes, envisioning her son's small face, his laughter echoing in her mind. The memories felt like shards of glass, sharp and painful. Her father's words replayed in her mind, cold and unyielding: "You are not fit to be a mother."

Tears threatened to spill over, but she held them back, clenching her fists. For so long she had ran from him, believing that she protect James the way her mother couldn't. The irony of it all was that the very man who should have shielded her had taken away the most precious parts of her life.

"Would this have been our life?" she murmured to the empty room. The silence answered her with a cruel indifference, and she felt the ache of her longing deepen.

Being in Karl's room was so painful. It contained all the things Evelyn had failed to provide James—a stark reminder that her son had been living without her for two years. It was proof of her failure, a harsh reality that she was a terrible mother. She collapsed to the floor, pulling her legs tight against her chest as the nursery engulfed her. Tears came quickly, blurring her vision and turning the room's colors into a mélange of watercolors.

The war had taken so much already, and she had thought that losing her son would be the final blow. Yet here she was, still breathing, still hoping, even when hope seemed like a cruel joke.

A sigh sounded behind her. With watery eyes, Evelyn craned her neck around. Thomas stood in the doorway, his long coat removed to reveal a white, pinstriped shirt tucked under a gray vest. He clutched his peaked cap in one hand, his face unreadable as he looked at her.

"Go away," Evelyn sneered, turning away from him.

Of course, Thomas didn't leave. Instead, his footsteps shuffled in the doorway, as if he were leaning against the frame.

"You're making a habit of storming off on me," Thomas commented casually.

Evelyn scoffed through her sniffles, "Stop pissing me off then."

A beat of silence passed before Thomas spoke again.

"Do you think you can ever trust me?"

The question almost made Evelyn laugh. She knew any response was a double-edged sword. If she said yes, she'd be submitting to Thomas's plan to use her with Kimber. If she said no, she risked becoming a target for the Peaky Blinders as well. She wasn't even certain how she felt. Evelyn constantly grappled with both realities — at times, she found herself relying on Thomas's judgment, calculating her moves around his as if he would support her. But then he would do or say things that left her feeling alienated, like an outsider and just another pawn in his game.

Evelyn wondered if she had ever truly given him a reason to trust her. Thomas had welcomed her in, providing protection and access to his family and lifestyle, despite her father's identity. She could have been a spy, yet he chose to believe otherwise. In his own way, Thomas was showing vulnerability. But could she say she had done the same?

Since they met, Evelyn had always skirted around the truth of her situation — how her father had treated her and her mother, and the abuses they had both endured. She had only ever alluded to how she really became a mother. All of these things culminated in her inability to allow herself to trust anybody — to trust Thomas, or Polly, or Ada for that matter.

Perhaps it was time to expose herself too, to life the veil that had kept her shielded from Thomas for so long.

She took a deep breath, her eyelids lowering. Slowly, Evelyn hoisted herself to her feet before turning back to him.

"My mother killed herself when I was thirteen."

Thomas blinked, looking slightly taken aback at her seemingly bizarre response. She continued anyway.

"She always told me we were born from the earth and should return to it. She never liked that we burned our dead," Evelyn pressed her palms into her eye sockets, welcoming the pressure. "The night she died, she walked into a river and shot herself with my father's pistol, so her blood could mix with the water and return to the soil."

Her arms fell limply to her sides. Thomas continued to stare at her, his face impassive.

"My father found her," Evelyn explained, her mind transporting her back to that day. She saw Danior carrying her mother's lifeless body through a clearing of trees. Evelyn vividly remembered the water streaming from her mother's pale blonde hair as it hung loosely over her father's forearms. She recalled the frigid coldness of her skin, the way her mother's dress clung to her curves as Evelyn attempted one last embrace. But overshadowing this painful memory was the overwhelming sense of fear — the sudden realization that she was utterly alone and defenseless.

"I never truly understood why she did it until I got pregnant with James," Evelyn admitted, the agony in her voice palpable. Thomas quickly looked away, his gaze dropping to the tips of his shoes. "I knew I could endure Danior's rage, but how could I willingly subject an innocent child to it? The thought made me feel utterly selfish."

"But you didn't do it," Thomas remarked hoarsely.

"I wanted to," Evelyn replied, stepping towards Thomas with sudden fierceness. "The only thing that stopped me was the war. My father went to France, and I prayed he would die there. I begged God to take the life of the man who had destroyed my mother's will to live — who had destroyed mine by believing that allowing other men to violate his own daughter was a simple solution to gain power."

Thomas's blue eyes flicked back up to her, and she could see his mind piecing together her story. The small allusions to her life molded with the tale she was now unfolding, painting the bigger picture of her struggle. He couldn't hide the pain he felt for her ordeal, or the disgust that overtook his hatred for Danior. She hoped these glimpses into her past would explain her wariness of him, why the smallest touch sent her spiraling, and why her defenses were never truly lowered.

"But he came back," Thomas added quietly.

"Yes," she nodded weakly. "The only thing the war killed was the small shred of sanity he had left."

"Evelyn..." Thomas's voice trailed off as he began to cross the room towards her. But she shrank back.

"I needed motivation to leave. My son gave me that, and when I left, I vowed never to let another person — another man — use me the way my father did," she said, tears coming again. But these weren't tears of sorrow; they were hot and furious, her anger with Thomas returning. "I will not let you hand me over to Kimber."

Thomas took a sharp breath, his lips pursing as he moved towards her again. He proved quick enough that Evelyn couldn't react in time. He closed the distance between them in seconds, his cold hands cupping her face firmly. He pulled her close, so close she could feel his breath on her lips.

"Do you remember what I said to you at John's wedding?" Thomas asked in a low but resolute tone — like a general addressing his soldier.

Her nostrils flared, and she said nothing.

"That's never going to happen to you again," Thomas repeated. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

"But —"

"You're too fucking stubborn to have a conversation with," Thomas shook his head, his grip on her face loosening. "You jump to conclusions without reason."

"You said —"

"Let me finish my thought," his full lips formed a faint smile. "Do you really think I'd let you talk to Kimber alone? Do you truly believe I wouldn't be there, beside you, ready to cut his eyes out for even suggesting he buy you a glass of champagne?"

Evelyn's brows furrowed, but his protectiveness sent her heart soaring. She kept her brown gaze locked on his, her anger subsiding with each second his hands remained on her.

"I needed to come up with an excuse to have you there, with me," he admitted softly.

After a moment, she asked in a strained voice, "Why, Tommy? Why me? Why not John, or Arthur? Or Polly, even?"

"They don't know how it feels to be betrayed by someone who's supposed to love you," he said so quietly that she strained to catch the words.

"And you do?"

"More than you know," Thomas whispered, and Evelyn recalled an earlier conversation with Polly and Ada, where they'd revealed that Thomas had been blinded by love — a woman named Grace who'd led to the destruction of his own family.

She fought against the desire to comfort him, unsure of where this path was leading. Instead, she probed, attempting to get him to be as vulnerable as she felt. Only then would Evelyn feel they were at an understanding. "But how is that going to help against Kimber?"

Thomas ran his thumbs across her cheekbones, wiping away the lingering tears on her olive skin. As he dried her eyes, he studied her face, taking in the freckles that sprinkled her nose — a symptom of growing up outside — and the delicate swoop of her cupid's bow.

In a single breath, Thomas sighed, "It doesn't."

His neck craned forward, his mouth hovering over hers, tickling the nerves in her lips. She felt frozen to the spot, her mind whirling as he asked, "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," the word barely left her before his lips met hers. The kiss was unexpected yet welcomed, soft yet intense. To her surprise, her body didn't recoil but melted into his, her hips pressing against the shape of his own.

Gently, his fingers slid into her tousled hair, curling into her locks as his mouth moved against hers. He tasted woodsy, with a faint twinge of cigarette smoke lingering behind each brief moment their lips parted. Evelyn marveled at his tenderness — for a man so rough around the edges, his actions belied his exterior. He didn't push her, but rather responded in tandem to each move she made.

She found her hands sliding up the front of his shirt, feeling his chest through the starched fabric as she gripped it, pulling him closer. In turn, Thomas's hands fell from her hair to the small of her back, holding her frame against his.

Evelyn had never experienced such consideration from a man. She had only ever been subjected to force and unrequited desires. But Thomas asked for permission, both verbally and silently, ensuring her boundaries weren't pushed. With each brush of his lips, she felt the broken pieces of her heart knitting back together.

Thomas was the first to pull back, but his eyes remained closed, his forehead resting against hers. "I need you, Evelyn."

As he said this, something clicked — a particular knowingness forming deep within her mind, as if these words had triggered a flurry of momentum inside her. The world around them went completely still, dropping away as if they were the only two people left. She didn't know where it came from, but for once, Evelyn felt certain that she had just set something bigger than herself in motion. And despite Thomas's comforting reassurance, she couldn't help but feel as if they had just thrown themselves into a pit of darkness, both hurtling mindlessly into a trap that led right to Danior's front door.