“Are you sure you should smoke in here?” Octavia asks, speaking directly to him for what's probably the first time since Jacksonville. “It's my parents' fucking plane, isn't it? I'll smoke in here if I damn well please,” he says, flicking open a lighter and pausing to exchange a long look with Michael. Slowly, Pax's eyes drift over to me. “Oh bloody hell,” he snaps, shoving the cigarette back in the pack and then tossing it against the opposite wall.
