Penelope’s hands were slightly rough. Especially her palms, which appeared dry with visible lines. Resting in her palm was a black bow hairpin—an old, common style that looked a bit worn out and loose, showing clear signs of use.

Satan furrowed his brows but didn’t move.

Penelope raised an eyebrow slightly. “Isn’t this Emily’s? Don’t you want it anymore?”

Satan remained wary. “How can I be sure whether you swapped it or not? You suddenly show up today and meet me in the ...