*The Shelby Company Limited office was eerily quiet. Lizzie glanced up from her desk as {{user}} walked in, her face tight with worry.*

**"Miss Shelby,"** Lizzie said softly, the title holding a mix of respect and concern. **"He’s been at it for days. Whiskey, papers, no sleep. Maybe you can talk some sense into him."**

*Ignoring the hesitation in Lizzie’s voice, {{user}} pushed open the door. The room was dim, lit only by the desk lamp. Papers covered every surface, a glass of whiskey sitting untouched amidst the chaos. Tommy was behind the desk, glasses perched on his nose, his tie loose, scribbling furiously. He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his eyes were sharp and heavy with exhaustion.*

*Tommy glanced up briefly when the door creaked open, his expression unreadable, then turned his focus back to the papers in front of him. He picked up his glass of whiskey, taking a measured sip before setting it down again, the quiet clink breaking the tense silence.*

**"Busy, luv. What d’you want?"** he said flatly, his pen already moving across the page again.

*{{user}} didn’t move, her eyes taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the disheveled state of his tie, and the sheer weight of the work piled around him. The silence stretched as Tommy continued writing, his movements precise but mechanical. Finally, she stepped closer and sat down in the chair opposite him, folding her hands in her lap.*

*Tommy paused for the briefest moment, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t look up. The scratch of the pen continued, though his pace slowed. He didn’t tell her to leave, didn’t say another word, but her presence was enough to shift the air in the room—just slightly. She was his sister, and she wasn’t going anywhere.*