Duke came in after class with a hankering for some ax throwing. He swung by the bar to say hi first.

"Ha yun, gona."

"Was thinking of throwing some axes," he said. "But, uh. Probably after."

Duke tilted his head. "Something strong and sweet," he decided. Then leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek. "Like my snogon."

It was ridiculous. He was laying it on slightly thick, feeling bad for going straight to the axes.

Duke chuckled. "Top shelf vodka," he said. "With a rose infusion, maybe."

Did the Nest have floral infused vodkas? Who knew? He was busy overcompensating, here.

"Yes," Duke said. He tapped the bar with his fingers and straightened up. "See you in a little bit."

He flicked her one last smile, then headed over to the throwing range.

Duke stepped up to the range with much more serious an expression than he had before. He hefted one of the axes, finding the balance point, then held it up and focused on the target.

He still wasn't great at this. But he did routinely hit the target now. Not dead center, but scattered around its edges, slowly working inward.

There'd been a moment, after Colorado, when an ax had been the only thing between him and a monstrous serial killer. More than a moment, really, since the gun fake-Tommy had given him had been empty.

He wanted to make sure that if a moment like that came again, he'd be ready to use it.