Asher had been playing with throwing daggers again: whipping them at a dummy with improving, but still not excellent, precision. But that had been twenty minutes ago, when he'd had the energy for it, when his aim had been acceptable and before it started decaying. Before boredom settled in, Asher's ingrown inability to focus on much of anything for longer than that.

He huffed out a breath and left the daggers where they lay, settling back to sit and scowl at the dummy for a moment before fishing out his phone to check -- well, absolutely nothing. But old habits died hard.

soldier of song