KIERAN BLACKWOOD
The sun is already high when we head to the training field behind the mansion.
Scarlett seems eager, her eyes shining with determination, but I know this will be harder than she expects.
Teaching someone to fight, especially a human, requires patience. Teaching someone you love, knowing they might need these skills to survive, is a kind of torment only a lunatic like me would accept.
She ties her hair into a ponytail, adjusting the cotton T-shirt and simple sneakers she chose for the session. Despite her confident look, I can feel the tension in her movements. She's nervous but trying not to show it.
"Ready?", I ask, handing her one of the daggers I selected for the training.
She holds the weapon carefully, her eyes scanning the silver blade with a mix of fas
