The river’s poison has followed him across the Atlantic, and James Delaney is done running. Tom Hardy slips back into that ink-black coat like a second skin, eyes burning with the same unholy fire that left us wrecked in 2017. Season 2 drags us from London’s rotting docks to America’s savage frontier—Nootka Sound’s bloody promise now a war zone where British redcoats, Yankee opportunists, and ancient spirits all want a piece of Delaney’s soul. The ghosts aren’t whispering anymore; they’re screaming.

Hardy and Steven Knight (with dad Chips on script duty) have forged something feral: six episodes already locked, dripping with opium haze, ritual drums, and betrayals that cut deeper than any blade. Jessie Buckley’s Lorna Bow crashes the New World with wildfire rage, Stephen Graham’s Atticus Strange slithers in with new venom, and rumors swirl of Paddy Considine adding fresh grit to this cursed family. The gothic rot we craved? It’s evolved—moon-soaked massacres replacing candlelit schemes, silence still a weapon, but now laced with frontier thunder and the howl of things that should stay buried.

Hardy’s Delaney isn’t just haunted; he’s the haunting. That growl, that stare—now carving through empires instead of East India boardrooms. Filming kicks off late ’25/early ’26 for a winter 2026 drop, and damn if the wait hasn’t been worth it.
This isn’t a return. It’s Delaney finally unleashing hell.

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