The rest of the afternoon passed with Xavier testing out every weapon—handguns, plasma blades, rifles, smart-shields. He had the knowledge now, but his hands still needed to catch up. Bruises followed. Misfires. A sliced boot. But he pushed through it.
As the sun dipped, the field finally quieted.
And then came dinner.
They all sat together on the platform near Xavier's home. Steam rose from the bowls as laughter echoed softly under the fading sky. Even Reva smiled—barely—as she picked through a bowl of synthetic blood stew Lyra had somehow managed to replicate from the med kits.
"This is disgusting," Reva said flatly. "But... tolerable."
"Food is food," Lyra muttered. "And I cook good."
"You never told me you could cook," Xavier commented jokingly.
"I can cook but I don't like cooking. I only like eating."
Xavier scarfed down his food and leaned back. "So how long till I'm a master assassin?"
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "A month, at least. That's just the basics."
