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You’ve trained me well and you know it.”
    “You’re decent enough,” Gazer says. “But it takes a lot more than fighting to succeed.”
    I grab the soft cloth kept specifically for wiping down the blades. I start polishing the knife, admiring the way the silver shines, the way it reflects my eyes. There’s something very beautiful about a sharp weapon, especially one as deadly as this one. This tiny thing in my hand is powerful. With the right guide, it can take life. And some lives are worth taking.
    “Yeah, yeah,” I say, and I wink at my reflection in the knife. “It takes heart and brains and all sorts of other things. I’m ready physically but I suck in the mental department.”
    It’s a well-known argument. We have it weekly.
    “Yes,” Gazer says. “The fact that you’re so nonchalant about it contributes even more to my argument. You have a lot more to learn, Faye. You’re still too much of a child.”
    Ouch.
    “I lost my childhood six years ago,” I snap.
    “No, you lost your innocence. Your childish ways are still up for debate.”
    I stamp my foot, which I know really does reinforce his views, but at this point I don’t care. “You know what they did to me. You understand why I have to do this. How can you sit there and say I’m not ready?” I wave my knife around but Gazer isn’t threatened. He knows I’d never hurt him. Of course, he also knows that even though I’m one tough cookie, he could still probably take me out in a heartbeat. He did teach me everything he knows.
    The people I want to kill aren’t as well rounded as Gazer.
    But my mentor isn’t going to go down without a fight tonight. “Faye, no one knows your desires as well as me. I’m not your enemy here. I want to protect you. When I took you in, I agreed to help. You were so small, and there was so much hate in your heart. So much fire. I thought if I could help you learn to protect yourself, I might be able to save you. I might be able to make you understand you’re better off forgiving and moving on. That life has more meaning than the scars on your chest. But sometimes I think all I’ve done is add kerosene to that fire.”
    “You’ve helped me become a warrior,” I snap.
    “I’ve made you more hateful,” he argues back. “All I wanted to do was give you confidence. Help you grow stronger so you’d be prepared if you were attacked again. Until you can learn to let go of that hate, only then will you be ready.”
    “I’m not going to forgive them for what they did to me.”
    Gazer shakes his head slowly. “Then I can’t do anything more for you right now.” Turning, he gathers his books and heads back upstairs.
    I’m left fuming by myself, which is usually the way these conversations end.
    For the life of me, I can’t understand why Gazer seems to believe I need to forgive these people. How on earth is it supposed to be revenge if I don’t have the satisfaction of watching them bleed? Turning, I push the wooden mannequin back into its resting place in the corner and stare at it. It’s a poor excuse for a human: wood, with carpet wrapped around its shoulders to mimic flesh and blood. In my mind, I envision the dead man at the bar, his crooked smile and short hair. I remember him standing over me, and for a second, I’m eleven again, full of fear and helplessness. Pulling my arm back, I punch the dummy as hard as I can, feeling the pain in my knuckles where flesh meets wood.
    If it were really his face, I would have broken his nose. I would have felt the cartilage snap beneath my knuckles and seen the surprised look on his face. Only then would I pull the knife from behind my back and finish the task.
    “Remember me?” I whisper to the empty room. “You took my soul. Now I’m returning the favor.”
    But the wooden dummy doesn’t respond and suddenly I’m feeling foolish. Gathering up the rest of the weapons, I put them back in their proper spots and head upstairs.
    I’ve got better places to