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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: night shift - lucy dacus
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Hours passed, dragging like the weight of the sky. Marianna sat alone in her modest lodger room, nestled a couple doors from the Shelby's betting shop, the dim light flickering from the lamp beside her.
She tried to focus on the paper in her hands, its print dancing before her eyes, but her thoughts refused to stay tethered. The words blurred as her mind swam, a restless tide rising inside her chest. She tried to keep herself distracted—she had to. She couldn't let her thoughts return to the orphanage's opening. Something felt wrong. She could feel it in her bones, in the whispers that fluttered against the edges of her consciousness. But she'd learnt long ago to ignore them.
Then the door burst open. Marianna's reflexes were immediate. Her hand shot down to the side, fingers curling around the cold metal of the gun tucked underneath the table. She whipped it toward the doorway in an instant, eyes narrowed, her heart pounding. But as soon as her gaze locked on the figure standing at the threshold, her breath hitched in shock.
Tommy Shelby. His chest heaved with each desperate breath, sweat slick on his brow, his face twisted in an expression she had never seen before. It was something raw, something fractured—a desperation so pure, it seemed to bleed from his very soul.
"Tommy... what happened?" Marianna's voice was soft, almost too soft, as she slowly lowered the gun, the weight of it no longer a comfort but an afterthought. She moved toward him, hesitant, her gaze tracing the raw, tortured lines of his face.
"Where is he?" Tommy's voice was tight, his eyes drilled into hers, searching, frantic.
"Where's who?" Marianna blinked, confusion flitting through her mind.
Tommy's jaw clenched, his hand snapping out, grabbing her by the arm, pulling her close. His breath was hot, ragged, almost choking him as he seethed, "Don't fucking lie to me, Marianna. Where's Charlie? Tell me now."
Marianna's pulse quickened, her shock evident as she struggled against his grip. She had not been prepared for this—not the intensity, not the desperation that emanated from him. His eyes were wild, unhinged.
"The fuck?" Her voice was laced with surprise, her body trembling from the unexpected aggression, but then a flash of anger shot through her. She slapped his hand away, her fingers like fire against his skin. "You came here to accuse me?You came here to—"
