Slade didn’t waste time on useless skills.

If something didn’t serve a purpose—combat, survival, efficiency—it wasn’t worth learning.

Which made this… questionable.

The safe house balcony overlooked the city, night settled deep and quiet while distant lights flickered across the skyline. Slade leaned back against the railing, one hand holding a lit cigar, the slow curl of smoke drifting upward into the dark.

His eye flicked toward her briefly.

Then back to the smoke.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he said flatly.

A faint exhale followed as he took another draw, holding it in his mouth for a second before pushing the smoke out in a controlled stream.

“Don’t inhale it,” he added, voice steady. “That’s not the point.”

He shifted slightly, watching the way the smoke moved as it left his lips.

“Keep it in your mouth, then push it out.”

A small pause.

Then—

He shaped his mouth into a subtle “O,” a quick, controlled motion following as a ring of smoke rolled forward, clean and deliberate before dissolving into the air. 

Slade’s gaze tracked it for half a second before flicking back to her.

“Like that.”

Another slow drag from the cigar.

“Or,” he continued, exhaling more deliberately this time, letting part of the smoke shift upward through his nose, “you can force it out this way.”

His tone stayed calm, instructional.

“Not inhaling. Just pressure.”

Smoke slipped from his nose in a steady stream—controlled, intentional. 

A faint pause followed before the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

“Try not to choke on it.”

He tapped ash over the edge of the balcony, gaze settling back out over the city.

“Would ruin the lesson.”