Chapter Fifteen: The Accord of Wolves
The door to Flat 4B opened, spilling a wedge of buttery electric light and the thick, settled smell of stale tobacco and boy into the dim corridor. Deano stepped out, the sharp scent of his cheap aftershave cutting through the domestic fug. He paused on the threshold, adjusting the collar of his navy tracksuit with fastidious irritation. Around his neck, ludicrously incongruous against the shiny nylon, hung a striped polyester tie—maroon and grey, the co