The Pope's expression immediately soured.
"This is not something you can interfere with," he said. "The Goddess sees who she wishes to see, and no others."
Grey yawned.
He sniffled afterward, stretched his jaw until it cracked slightly, then rolled one shoulder as Brad shifted against the other. He had eaten far too much recently, but the strange part was that none of it had actually gone toward energizing his body. Almost everything he swallowed from the Dormaji had been broken down and immediately repurposed into materials for the Infernal Temper Band.
Was turning an Infernal Prince into a portable oven maybe a little wasteful? Sure.
But Grey had also been more concerned about rage-baiting Veyrath and satisfying the part of his brain that had apparently never evolved beyond a middle-school COD lobby, so he wasn't exactly going to start pretending practicality had been the main goal.
Unfortunately, it meant his patience right now was nonexistent.
