Priya's knock was the wrong kind for six in the morning.
Callum had been awake for forty minutes already, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed frame and his notebook open across his knees, working on the problem of Farrow. The knock was not the tentative sound of someone uncertain they had the right door, and it was not the flat, businesslike sound Priya usually produced. It was the knock of someone who had been standing outside working up to it, which meant whatever was on the other side of the door was something she had needed time to carry to him.
He was on his feet before the second knock landed.
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