The door wasn't closed, and Jasmine Yale watched in amazement as Charles Mcintosh's figure departed, a gleam flooding her eyes.
The wind lifted the corner of Charles Mcintosh's trench coat; he looked like a man heading off to the battlefield, resolute and aloof, leaving only a silhouette that grew more and more distant.
In the distance, mist and rain blurred the view.
The black umbrella covered half of the man's figure as he turned a corner and quickly disappeared from everyone's sight.
Jasmine Yale's long eyelashes fluttered, and her heart leaped intensely with them.
This man, whom she had known for a long time, always had elements she couldn't quite grasp.
Over the years, she found herself understanding him less and less.
"Jasmine, head back early. The training ground is too desolate; it's not suitable for a pregnant woman to stay." The old man stood up, his hands behind his back.
Jasmine Yale nodded: "You should go back too; I'll go back with you."
