“A toast,” the head of the Peaky Blinders Tommy Shelby says, holding up a glass of whisky. I reach for the bottle in front of me, but my disembodied virtual hand slaps uselessly against the table, knocking the whisky to the floor. I try to style it out by picking up my empty glass to clink it against his, but the tumbler hangs in midair, spinning in place before launching across the room.
“To old friends,” Tommy says.
