Phew...
Sitting on a rock, Veil let out a lazy puff of smoke, a relaxed look on his face.
Especially now that he'd confirmed something through experimentation—the luck of a Daughter of Destiny wouldn't vanish even if the Son of Destiny died.
What could be more satisfying than that?
"Where the hell did you pull out that cigarette and lighter from?" Saoirse, drained but still sharp-tongued, reached out with her delicate hand and flicked the cigarette from Veil's lips to the ground.
She gave him an annoyed glare. "Seriously, why do you smoke so much? It reeks. If you ever dare smoke in front of me again, don't even think about touching me."
She pinched her nose in exaggerated disgust.
But Veil wasn't fooled.
He knew perfectly well—Saoirse wasn't truly repulsed by the smoke. She was just worried about his health. If she really cared about the smell, how come she'd never mentioned it before?
