IRIS

“Again.”

I don’t even get a second to breathe before Grandfather lunges.

I swing.

He ducks.

I spin.

He sidesteps, hands behind his back like this is a walk in the freaking park.

“Faster, Iris!” he barks, circling me like a wolf sizing up prey. “Your enemy won’t wait for your legs to recover. Move!”

I grit my teeth and rush him again, fists flying. One jab, two jabs and a sweep of my leg.

He jumps it effortlessly and barely a grunt leaves him.

“What the helly?” I mutter, already panting.

He’s seventy. Seventy-something. I’ve seen trees older than this man, how is he moving like this?

“You’re...