𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌

Royal Blood

2:41 ────♡─── 4:31

"𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚞𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝.

Ada and Maeve walked into the house, shaking off the drizzle from outside as they headed into the kitchen. Polly sat at the table, her sharp eyes peering over the edge of a newspaper, a cup of tea steaming beside her.

"Good of you to join us," Polly said dryly, folding the paper. "Where have you been all day?"

Ada pulled off her coat and slung it over a chair before sitting down with a sigh. "In bed. Couldn't sleep. Then I couldn't wake up. Then I was cold, and then I had to go for a wee. Then I was with this bear on a boat-that was just a dream. Then I was hungry." She glanced at the paper in Polly's hands. "Why are you reading the paper?"

Polly's eyes narrowed. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I've never seen you read the paper," Ada replied, tilting her head. "I've only ever seen you light fires with them."

Maeve smirked faintly as she leaned against the counter, shrugging off her coat. Polly ignored her, picking the paper back up with a deliberate shake.

"The BSA's on strike. Miners are on strike. IRA are killing our boys. Ten a day." Polly's tone was sharp as she spoke, her eyes flicking to Ada with an expression that made Maeve shift slightly.

Polly looked to Maeve for confirmation of her suspicion. Maeve paused before giving her a small, subtle nod.

Ada glanced between them, her brow furrowing. "What?"

Polly folded the paper and set it down, her gaze hardening. "Stand up."

Ada frowned. "Why?"

"Just stand up. Side on." Ada sighed and got to her feet, looking at Polly with growing irritation. "What's this about?"

Without warning, Polly reached out and grabbed Ada's chest.

"Oi, what the bloody hell are you doing?" Ada yelped, stepping back and swatting Polly's hand away.

Polly didn't flinch. "Ada, how late are you?"

Ada froze, her face paling as she avoided Polly's gaze. "I'm not late," she muttered defensively.

"Ada," Polly said again, her voice firm, her eyes unyielding.

Ada hesitated, fidgeting. "A week. Five weeks. Seven, if you count weekends," she said finally, her voice dropping to a mumble. "I think it's a lack of iron. I got some tablets."

Polly's expression didn't soften. "But they didn't work. Ada's shoulders slumped slightly. "No."

----------------------------------------

They walked quickly under the cover of darkness, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the damp cobblestones. Ada was slightly ahead of Maeve and Polly, her shoulders tense and her head held high, but the lit cigarette in her hand betrayed her nerves.

Polly caught sight of it and grabbed Ada's arm sharply, pulling her closer to her side. "Keep bloody walking, Ada," she hissed, her voice low but firm. "If anybody sees us here, they'll know."

Ada snatched her arm away, glaring at her aunt. "I'm not getting rid of it, Aunt Pol," she snapped, her voice shaking just enough to reveal the fear beneath her defiance.

Polly's face tightened. "Just come home, and we'll talk about it."

"You get off me, or I'll scream it," Ada shot back, her voice rising dangerously. "I swear, I will."

Polly stopped abruptly and turned to face Ada, her eyes narrowing with a sharpness that could cut steel. "All right," she said, her voice calm but full of menace. "You want to do this on the street? Let's do it. Whose is it?"

Ada froze for a moment, her lips pressing into a tight line. Her shoulders stiffened further, and she turned her gaze away from Polly, unwilling to meet her eyes.

"If I tell you," she said quietly, "you'll tell them. And they'll cut him to pieces."

From behind them, Maeve stepped closer, her green eyes catching the faint glow of the streetlamp overhead. "Not if he marries you, they won't," she said evenly. Her voice was calm, but her expression was serious. "Will he marry you?"

Ada's eyes darted to Maeve, then back to Polly. Her lips trembled, her composure cracking just enough for the weight of her situation to show. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know where he is."

"Jesus Christ, Ada!" Polly hissed, her hand running through her dark hair in frustration.

"He's gone away," Ada said quickly, her words tumbling over each other. "But he said he'd come back."

Maeve's face softened, though her voice remained steady. "Yeah, but they all say they'll come back," she said, her tone quiet but pointed.

Ada's breath hitched, her defenses breaking as tears filled her eyes. "He's not like that," she whispered, her voice trembling. "He's a good man, he promised. He will come back, I know he will."

Her words came out in a desperate rush, and before Maeve could respond, Polly reached out and pulled Ada into a firm embrace. Ada buried her face in Polly's shoulder, her sobs muffled by the thick wool of her coat. Polly's sharp eyes flicked up to Maeve, her expression unreadable, though her jaw tightened slightly.

Maeve stood back, her arms crossed as she watched the scene unfold. Her face was calm, but the way her fingers gripped her sleeves betrayed her own unease. She held Polly's gaze for a moment before looking away, the faintest sigh escaping her lips.

Polly patted Ada's back, her voice low but firm. "Come on," she murmured. "Let's get home before someone sees us."

-The streets of Small Heath were dark, the air damp with mist that clung to the uneven cobblestones. Maeve Harding walked briskly, the weight of her bag pulling slightly on her shoulder. Inside it, beneath the day's accounts and a wrapped loaf of bread, a revolver rested, cold and familiar. She wasn't expecting trouble tonight, but Small Heath was unpredictable-especially these days.

She rounded a corner near the quieter end of the Garrison district, her boots clicking softly against the stone. That's when she saw the headlights. A black police car idled at the edge of the street, its engine humming low, almost menacing.

The car door opened, and out stepped Inspector Campbell, his polished shoes crunching against the gravel. Two officers followed, their expressions stony as they flanked him. Maeve didn't stop walking.

"Miss Harding," Campbell called, his voice cutting through the stillness. "A word, if you would."

Maeve kept moving, her green eyes flicking to the side. "I'm busy," she replied coolly, her tone dismissive.

The officers stepped into her path, forcing her to halt. Maeve tilted her head, her gaze sharpening. "If this is about me pinching a loaf from the bakery, you're wasting your time."

Campbell smirked, adjusting the brim of his hat as he approached. "I'm afraid it's about something far more serious."

Maeve crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed. "I've got nothing to say to you."

"That's where you're mistaken." Campbell's voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. "You see, Miss Harding, I've reason to believe you're in possession of certain... information. Information regarding a misplaced shipment of government property."

Maeve raised an eyebrow. "You've lost your crates, then? Not very professional, is it?"

Campbell's smile tightened. "Don't play coy. We both know the Shelbys don't sneeze without someone like you knowing about it."

Maeve stepped closer, her chin lifting defiantly. "If I knew anything about crates, Inspector, I'd tell you to check the docks. Lots of misplaced things end up there." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "But I don't know anything."

Campbell's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

Maeve shrugged. "Then arrest me, if you're so sure."

The tension crackled in the air as Campbell's gaze bore into her. One of the officers shifted, stepping toward her. "Enough games, girl," he growled. "Tell us what you know, or we'll make you talk."

Maeve smirked, her expression cold. "You can try."

The officer grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her closer. Maeve didn't flinch. Instead, her hand dipped into her bag, her fingers brushing the cool metal of her revolver. Before she could draw it, Campbell raised a hand, signaling his officer to stop.

"Miss Harding," Campbell said, his tone deceptively smooth. "There's no need for this to become unpleasant. Just tell me what I need to know, and we'll be on our way."

Maeve's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "Unpleasant? Inspector, you don't know the meaning of the word."

She pulled her arm free and stepped back, her stance steady, her eyes hard. "But I'll give you a hint. You might want to take a look around."

Campbell frowned, his head turning slightly. That's when he noticed the shapes emerging from the shadows. Figures stepped out from alleys and doorways, their faces shadowed but unmistakably armed. Men and women, all with weapons in hand-knives, clubs, shotguns-trained their gazes on Campbell and his officers.

Maeve's voice was low but sharp, cutting through the silence. "You've stepped into my territory, Inspector. Did you really think I'd let you corner me without a plan?"

Campbell's jaw tightened, his composure slipping ever so slightly. "This is a dangerous game you're playing, Miss Harding."

Maeve shrugged, her smirk widening. "It's not a game if you're already losing."

One of the officers reached for his baton, but Maeve's hand shot to her bag, pulling out the revolver in one swift motion. She leveled it at the officer, her eyes blazing.

"I wouldn't," she said calmly. "This is Small Heath. We don't play nice with people who think they can come here and push us around."

Campbell held up a hand, stopping the officer in his tracks. "You're making a mistake," he said, his voice cold. "The Crown doesn't forget slights like this."

"And I don't forget threats," Maeve shot back. "Now get out of here before my friends decide you've overstayed your welcome."

The standoff lasted a few seconds longer, the tension almost unbearable. Finally, Campbell stepped back, signaling to his officers.

"This isn't over, Miss Harding," he said as he climbed into the car.

Maeve lowered her gun, her smirk never wavering. "It is for tonight."

The car's engine roared to life, and the officers climbed in, their glares lingering on Maeve as the vehicle disappeared into the fog. Once they were gone, Maeve exhaled slowly, tucking the revolver back into her bag.

From the shadows, a familiar figure stepped forward, a grin splitting his face. "Bloody hell, Maeve," John Shelby said, his shotgun slung over his shoulder. "I didn't think you had it in you to scare off a copper like that."

Maeve shot him a dry look. "That's because you don't think at all, John."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Polly's voice cut through the air, sharp and unamused. "Enough chatter. Let's move before Campbell sends reinforcements."

Maeve nodded, her expression settling into a cold calm as she adjusted her bag. But as she walked away, she couldn't shake the feeling that Campbell wasn't done with her-or the Shelbys-just yet.

----------------------------------------

The streets of Small Heath were dark, the air damp with mist that clung to the uneven cobblestones. Maeve Harding walked briskly, the weight of her bag pulling slightly on her shoulder. Inside it, beneath the day's accounts and a wrapped loaf of bread, a revolver rested, cold and familiar. She wasn't expecting trouble tonight, but Small Heath was unpredictable-especially these days.

She rounded a corner near the quieter end of the Garrison district, her boots clicking softly against the stone. That's when she saw the headlights. A black police car idled at the edge of the street, its engine humming low, almost menacing.

The car door opened, and out stepped Inspector Campbell, his polished shoes crunching against the gravel. Two officers followed, their expressions stony as they flanked him. Maeve didn't stop walking.

"Miss Harding," Campbell called, his voice cutting through the stillness. "A word, if you would."

Maeve kept moving, her green eyes flicking to the side. "I'm busy," she replied coolly, her tone dismissive.

The officers stepped into her path, forcing her to halt. Maeve tilted her head, her gaze sharpening. "If this is about me pinching a loaf from the bakery, you're wasting your time."

Campbell smirked, adjusting the brim of his hat as he approached. "I'm afraid it's about something far more serious."

Maeve crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed. "I've got nothing to say to you."

"That's where you're mistaken." Campbell's voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. "You see, Miss Harding, I've reason to believe you're in possession of certain... information. Information regarding a misplaced shipment of government property."

Maeve raised an eyebrow. "You've lost your crates, then? Not very professional, is it?"

Campbell's smile tightened. "Don't play coy. We both know the Shelbys don't sneeze without someone like you knowing about it."

Maeve stepped closer, her chin lifting defiantly. "If I knew anything about crates, Inspector, I'd tell you to check the docks. Lots of misplaced things end up there." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "But I don't know anything."

Campbell's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

Maeve shrugged. "Then arrest me, if you're so sure."

The tension crackled in the air as Campbell's gaze bore into her. One of the officers shifted, stepping toward her. "Enough games, girl," he growled. "Tell us what you know, or we'll make you talk."

Maeve smirked, her expression cold. "You can try."

The officer grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her closer. Maeve didn't flinch. Instead, her hand dipped into her bag, her fingers brushing the cool metal of her revolver. Before she could draw it, Campbell raised a hand, signaling his officer to stop.

"Miss Harding," Campbell said, his tone deceptively smooth. "There's no need for this to become unpleasant. Just tell me what I need to know, and we'll be on our way."

Maeve's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "Unpleasant? Inspector, you don't know the meaning of the word."

She pulled her arm free and stepped back, her stance steady, her eyes hard. "But I'll give you a hint. You might want to take a look around."

Campbell frowned, his head turning slightly. That's when he noticed the shapes emerging from the shadows. Figures stepped out from alleys and doorways, their faces shadowed but unmistakably armed. Men and women, all with weapons in hand-knives, clubs, shotguns-trained their gazes on Campbell and his officers.

Maeve's voice was low but sharp, cutting through the silence. "You've stepped into my territory, Inspector. Did you really think I'd let you corner me without a plan?"

Campbell's jaw tightened, his composure slipping ever so slightly. "This is a dangerous game you're playing, Miss Harding."

Maeve shrugged, her smirk widening. "It's not a game if you're already losing."

One of the officers reached for his baton, but Maeve's hand shot to her bag, pulling out the revolver in one swift motion. She leveled it at the officer, her eyes blazing.

"I wouldn't," she said calmly. "This is Small Heath. We don't play nice with people who think they can come here and push us around."

Campbell held up a hand, stopping the officer in his tracks. "You're making a mistake," he said, his voice cold. "The Crown doesn't forget slights like this."

"And I don't forget threats," Maeve shot back. "Now get out of here before my friends decide you've overstayed your welcome."

The standoff lasted a few seconds longer, the tension almost unbearable. Finally, Campbell stepped back, signaling to his officers.

"This isn't over, Miss Harding," he said as he climbed into the car.

Maeve lowered her gun, her smirk never wavering. "It is for tonight."

The car's engine roared to life, and the officers climbed in, their glares lingering on Maeve as the vehicle disappeared into the fog. Once they were gone, Maeve exhaled slowly, tucking the revolver back into her bag.