It was all in good fun. Just throwing rocks at a certain angle and watching them skip as far as they could into the distance until they dropped into the water. No targets to hit.

But his Zo was good at it, a natural.

And the world's former finest assassin had never once sat down with his daughter and taught her how to aim and fire a thing.

Floyd settled in his spot by the water front as he watched and searched his pockets for a smoke; he said nothing as let her play, seeing no need to startle her.