Looking back now, I don’t think Wick was just playing pranks. I think he was reaching. Not to annoy. Not to dominate, but to understand. 

He was young—fast, sharp, built for reaction. Everything about him moved quickly, demanded response, chased stimulation, and then there was Shyla. 

Slow. Quiet. Unshaken. A presence that didn’t react the way the world usually does. 

She didn’t snap at him. Didn’t correct him. Didn’t pull away. She stayed, and in that stillness, she gave him something most don’t: 

Space to figure it out. To adjust. To soften. 

Because when something doesn’t meet chaos with more chaos, something changes. Looking back, I think Wick wasn’t testing her. He was learning from her.  Learning how to exist beside something different without breaking it. 

And Shyla—old, blind, and impossibly steady—never asked him to be anything other than what he was. She just showed him… there was another way to be.  Even in the dark.