Camden Town, London – Dusk
The sky was bruised violet as the train pulled into the station. The team was lean: Tommy, Arthur, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Finn, and James.
A quiet mission, Tommy had said.
Camden was crawling with dockside thieves and fledgling gangs hoping to fill the power vacuum left by Sabini. One such crew—the Black Knives—had taken control of a key route into London. They were bold enough to skim from Peaky operations. Now it was time to remind them who ruled the kingdom.
Tommy laid out the plan at a rented flat above a jazz bar, cigar lit, hat tilted low.
"They meet in the meatpacking warehouse down on Crown Street. We go in quiet. Disable, disarm. Then we offer them a choice: join or disappear."
James leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"And if they choose option three?"
Tommy didn't look up. "That's why you're here."
The Calm Before
Before the job, the boys filtered out to drink or calm their nerves. James found a quiet alley behind the bar and lit a cigarette. He stared at his palm as the smoke curled up his fingers. Faint heat pulsed beneath the skin—always there now. Waiting.
Velakar hadn't spoken since the heist.
Not in words.
But James could feel him.
A predator, coiled and watching from the pit of his mind. Waiting for a crack.
"Tryin' not to catch fire tonight, brother?" came a voice.
Arthur.
James chuckled. "You worried I'll burn your coat again?"
"I'm worried you'll burn yourself," Arthur said, sitting down beside him. "I've seen it before. That look. That edge. You're balancing on it."
James took a slow drag. "Better than falling off it."
Arthur nudged him. "You need a woman. Or a war. Or both."
James exhaled. "This is the war."
The Warehouse – Nightfall
The meatpacking warehouse reeked of blood and cold steel. The Black Knives had posted sentries—boys with guns too big for their hands. They never saw the Blinders coming.
Tommy moved like a surgeon, quiet and precise. Arthur was a hammer. Finn and Isaiah slipped through shadows.
James moved with the silence of a phantom. At his side, the fire pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Inside, ten Black Knives sat around a butcher's table, cigars and guns in easy reach. Their leader—a thick-armed brute named Dempsey—laughed like he already owned London.
He stopped laughing when James stepped into the light.
"Gentlemen," Tommy said behind him. "It's recruitment day."
What followed was negotiation. Then shouting. Then threats.
Then a gunshot.
One of the younger Knives panicked—fired at Arthur. Missed.
Everything exploded.
The Battle – A Controlled Inferno
Blinders surged in. Knives were drawn.
Pistols roared.
James's world went quiet.
His vision shifted—slower, sharper. Like the air thickened into syrup. Every motion burned into his mind with impossible clarity.
One of the Knives charged at him with a cleaver. James sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, twisted. The bone cracked like dry wood.
Another came at him with a chain.
James ducked. Heat rose in his throat.
"Release me," Velakar whispered. "Let me feast."
James growled—No.
He needed the flame—but not all of it. Just enough.
His hands sparked. Orange veins lit up beneath the skin. The chain melted before it touched him. He hit the man once—in the chest. The thug flew back ten feet, unconscious.
Control, James told himself. Control it or lose everything.
Behind him, Arthur howled with bloodlust, Tommy shot a man in the leg, and Finn cried out as someone slashed his arm.
James moved faster.
Not a man.
Not a demon.
Something in between.
Aftermath – Fire and Smoke
When it ended, the Black Knives were broken. Dempsey had surrendered. Blood soaked the cement floor.
James stood at the center of it all, hands shaking. His breath steamed in the cold. His shirt clung to him—soaked in sweat, not blood. Not this time.
Tommy walked up slowly, eyes scanning him.
"That thing inside you," he said. "You're learning to use it."
James nodded. "It's not me. But I can aim it."
Tommy lit a cigarette. "Keep it that way. We don't need gods in this family. Just brothers."
James looked down at his hands—still trembling. "I'm trying, Tom."
Tommy clapped him on the back. "Good. Because we've got a Russian dinner in two nights. And I need someone the Duchess can't read."
The Night Wind
Later, James stood alone outside the warehouse, beneath the stars. The city had fallen quiet again.
From the shadows behind the crates, a whisper came—not Velakar, but something else.
A woman's voice.
"You burn bright, James Shelby. But what happens when the fire spreads?"
James turned. Nothing there.
But in the smoke rising from the warehouse… a face lingered. A gypsy face. His mother's lineage. His blood.
A warning.