"And not the immediate problem, but it would be a shame if Candlelighters were just a head of a hydra, you know?"

One last puff of smoke has Deacon dropping his cigarette, crushing it out on the concrete beneath the heel of his shoe. A nice pair, shiny, but worn, the soles unseen ground down to a bald shine, but he presents well. He smiles at Ivan, quick and careless. "We were always on our own anyway, man."