Arnold Simmons smiled and looked up at the heavy night sky, "Because nothing is purely black or white."

Light is born from darkness, and only with the cold do people recognize warmth, and it’s only when one’s breath stops that they understand how precious air is.

What is black, what is white, no one can speak clearly.

But no one cares about the truth either.

There are always people in this world who cannot feel warmth, but that is not a reason for them to accept slander.

Yet, there are always those who like to force their ideas onto others,

standing on the moral high ground, pointing fingers.

Just like those years when people advised her to let go of hatred, simply because her enemy was her biological father.

What father?

Nothing more than a murderer.

Someone who destroyed her planet home, someone who wanted her life, could he still be considered a father?

Hannah lowered her eyes.

She suddenly felt like laughing, but couldn’t.

Her eyes were somewhat dry from the wind, and she closed them.

She didn’t even know when Arnold Simmons had pulled her into his embrace.

All she knew was that a very familiar, comfortable sensation surrounded her,

like the steam rising from a hot spring on a winter’s day.

She subconsciously leaned in and grasped Arnold’s clothes tightly.

"Do you know, I actually don’t mind at all when people call me a bad person."

Because she was indeed a bad person.

Be it committing every sin or being disloyal to kin, let people say what they will.

She just wanted to do what she believed was right.

To seek revenge for Southport, and for herself.

Whether her mother understood or others cursed her,

she didn’t care.

"Yeah, I know," Arnold Simmons bent down, his gentle kiss landing on her forehead.

She affectionately nuzzled his chin, her eyes bright and carrying a soft smile, "Arnold, would you humor me, please?"

"Humor you how?"

Arnold lifted his hand and gently ruffled her soft black hair.

Hannah thought for a moment, "Like before, humor me to sleep."

As she spoke, she snuggled into his arms again, like an affection-craving kitten, exposing her soft, white belly without any defenses.

"Arnold."

She called his name again, this time with a very gentle, soft voice.

So low that only the two of them could hear.

Arnold held the restless person in his arms and looked up to see Gregory Lawrence sitting by the firepit and the desolation.

Gregory, who had been muttering just now, had fallen asleep a while ago, using the black robe of desolation as a pillow.

The hood on desolation’s head had been pulled off.

He, too, was resting with his eyes closed.

Only then did Arnold loosen his grip.

Hannah immediately sat up, her black hair a mess, and she gazed plaintively at the man in front of her.

"You’ve changed,"

she said with a whine in her voice.

She didn’t cry, but her expression made Arnold feel even more helpless than if she had.

"I haven’t," he protested softly.

"But you don’t humor me anymore," Hannah continued her accusation.

Arnold grasped her hand, "Because we are outdoors."

Hannah wouldn’t listen, "But even outdoors in the past, you would hug and kiss me."

Well, that was true.

Arnold could only pull her back into his embrace again.

Hannah pushed him away, "What are you doing?"

"Hugging and kissing," he replied seriously, then bent down to lightly kiss her lips, "Just like you said, to humor you,"

After all, they were still outdoors, so it was just a brief touch.

Hannah was only pretending to be angry.

She was feeling down, so she wanted to make a fuss with Arnold.

Arnold knew and indulged her, humoring her patiently.