"He's my son," he said, but he didn't sound happy about it.
"You mean he's a ruthless, cold-blooded killer?"
"No, I mean he wants to be."
"Worse," I said.
"Much worse," he said.
"He's killed before when he needed to. He's saved my life and risked his own. He's a good man."
"He's a boy."
"Anyone who can stand shoulder to shoulder with me when the monsters are trying to kill us, and not flinch, isn't a boy, Edward. He's just young, and time will fix that."
"I hope so," Edward said.
I realized then what the real problem was. "You don't want to see him die."
"I don't want to get him killed."
"You won't get him killed, Edward."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I know that you won't take him unless you think his skills are up to the job. I know how good you are at training people for this; you helped train me. He's got good instincts and he's a shooter. He doesn't hesitate. He's brave as hell."
He looked at me. "You like him."