Someone knocked.  After seeing Anna’s firing show yesterday, I realized that maintenance on my weapons needed to be done.  The scratch along the side of my Beretta’s barrel was horrendous.  It was worse than I thought it’d be.  Dropping it was a mistake.  With it dismantled on my desk, Anna jumped off the bed to answer the door.  Mr. White stood there.  Sighing, I put the barrel I was cleaning down and stood, placing my hands behind my back.  “Keeping busy I presume?”  I nodded.  “Anna, my dear, may we have a few minutes?”  She nodded, grabbing her book before leaving.  “How is her training progressing?” 
My eyes moved from the closing door.  “Well.  Her breathing is improving as well as being able to...

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