Haytham remembered a time when he was much younger, when the entire world (though, at the time, his entire world was limited to London) seemed so vast, so open; when he was still a part of the Assassin brotherhood, before he saw its workings and came to despise them.

He thought it strange how now, so many years later - and as a Templar instead of an Assassin, to boot - he was starting to feel that freedom again as he scaled the rooftops of New York alongside his Assassin son. The world had opened up again, and he felt as though he could run for miles without tiring.

This could not be, of course. He had a job to do. So he crouched at the edge of a roof, balancing carefully on the balls of his feet. Connor came to a halt beside him with an irritated huff.

"Why have you stopped?"

"Patience, Connor. We'll find the men we're looking for soon enough."

"Not if we just stand here."

Haytham turned to face him. It was difficult to see his expression when his face was half-hidden by the hood of his robes. Whey did the Assassins insist on wearing those things? It concealed their features, that much was true, but...

Connor stared back at him, eyebrow crooked. "What?"

"Nothing. Apologies. I was thinking."

"And you get angry with me for not focusing."

"I never said..." Haytham stopped and sighed. "Never mind. Let's continue."

Connor gave a nod, and Haytham flung himself from the edge of the roof and onto a neighboring one. The night air was cool and crisp against his face, the sky overhead clear. He held his arms out at his sides for balance, but it felt as though he was flying.

He had few good memories of his time with the Assassins, but learning to scale rooftops was one of his favorites. It was terrifying at first, to be sure; but this weightlessness was a feeling he'd come to crave, even now.

He glanced back at Connor as paused beside a chimney. He had a sturdier build than most of the Assassins Haytham had seen, but he was just as quick, just as agile. How did he learn all of this from an old man who could barely walk? Was it from his mother, perhaps?

"You are slowing down," Connor said as he passed, scaling the chimney in a few quick jumps. There was a hint of challenge in his voice. One that Haytham couldn't deny. He clambered up after Connor, reaching the top just as quickly.

"Remember what I said about patience? No need to be so rash," he said.

"Not impatience. We cannot afford to waste time."

No, Haytham wanted to retort, you're just impatient. But he let it go and returned his focus to the task at hand. There was little to be gained from arguing with the boy.

The entirety of New York - or the destroyed part of it, at least - spread before them like a map. Haytham scanned it quickly, and saw their quarry just a few rooftops away, partially hidden amongst the ruins of an old building. He jumped down from the chimney and started to run. Connor followed after him a few moments later.

This was an interesting turn of events: a Templar father - the Grand Master himself - allied somewhat willingly with his Assassin son. Fighting and working alongside each other. Haytham couldn't help but feel a strange sort of pride when he looked on at the boy, ignoring the fact that they were on completely opposite sides of the spectrum. That was more than he could say about how his own father had felt when he defected to the Templar's side. How proud old Edward would be to see that his grandson had returned to the fold.

And then Connor was beside him again, and they were leaping across a rooftop together.

Haytham still couldn't see all of his face, but he didn't need to. Connor's half smirk was enough.

"Distracted?" his son asked.

Haytham returned the grin with one of his own.

"Never mind me. Just focus on keeping up."