Danny Flynn is invisible.,Twenty-eight years old, twenty-seven pounds in his account, and fourteen days before the landlord puts him on the street.,A South London courier who carries parcels for people who look through him, who stands in lobbies he will never live in, who has learned to make himself small enough to fit in the gaps between other people's lives.,He is the refused delivery. The docked rating. The smashed decanter that was never smashed. The man who eats it, keeps his voice level and moves on to the next door.,Until the night an app installs itself on his phone.,No login.,No sign-up.,No terms of service.,Just a black screen and text writing itself across it, one letter at a time, in a font that belongs on an invitation to somewhere he will never be invited.,[ Good evening. ],[ You have signed in at one (1) new address today. ],[ Pembury Heights, Battersea. ],[ A reward is pending. ],[ - The Concierge ],It should be a scam. A virus. A bad app was chewing through what is left of his phone. But when Danny says it out loud, to a phone, on a wet street, the phone answers him. Not a menu. Not a canned reply. Him.,[ Ready to claim your reward, sir? ],Sir.No one has called him sir in his entire life.,And that is when everything changes.
