Interruptions

It was hard waiting for nightfall after I saw Achilles's message. I made dinner for Haytham again, hoping he'd be tired enough that he'd just want to go to bed, but he was strangely talkative - at first, anyway - asking question after question, repeating the same ones several times before he finally shook his head and sighed.

"I apologize," he said halfway through our meal. "My thoughts are elsewhere tonight."

"Long day?"

"Very."

Even his gaze was far away, lost, staring at something I couldn't see. I could hardly blame him, though; I was picking at my own plate, trying to figure out how I could sneak out of the house (that was the easy part) and how I could get where I needed to go (the hard part) without Haytham finding out. He was already suspicious, and I had a feeling that he was on especially high guard after our visit to Abstergo.

He finally went to bed after ten. I waited until all of his lights were off before I threw on my jacket, strapped my hidden blade to my wrist, and left through the garage.

I'd emailed Clipper earlier in the night and, much to my surprise, he actually responded with a vague series of directions: he and a few others were still in the city, but on the outskirts, living in a farmhouse owned by a lesser-known Assassin couple. "Sometimes it's best to hide right under the Templars' noses," he wrote, and I could imagine him smirking as he typed it. A clever idea, I had to admit, but still a dangerous one.

I cut across the dew-laced front lawn, pulling the hood of my jacket up as I went. The neighborhood was quiet, save for the occasional bark of a dog or a passing car. It was spring break, but this was a street lined with wealthy and mostly childless families; as far as I knew, I would be alone until I caught up with my ride. Which suited me just fine, given that the people here probably wouldn't react well to a young college student prowling their streets with a hoodie pulled over his face.

It took a good half hour of walking before I saw the car. Its headlights blinked twice before the driver's side door opened.

"Connor! It's good to see you," Stephane said, reaching out to give me a one-armed hug and a quick hair ruffle. "How are you? How are your classes?"

"I'm fine, and they're good," I told him. I slipped into the passenger's seat while Stephane returned to the driver's.

"Ah. Very good. Dobby told us that you were fine, but she's..." He trailed off for a moment, and the knuckles of the hands gripping the wheel turned white. "Templar bâtard."

"When did they take her? I only just saw her the other day."

"Yesterday, early morning. She was coming to one of the safe houses."

"Did they-"

"The safe house is...well, it is still safe."

I leaned back against my seat. "That's good."

"It is. We have abandoned it for now, but..." He shrugged.

"Achilles is at the farmhouse?"

"Yes. He will not be happy that you're coming, but we need you. We need the information as soon as possible."

"What does he plan to do?"

"You can ask him that yourself. Even I don't know all of the details."

I nodded, and we rode in silence the rest of the way. The farmhouse was almost half an hour outside the city, tucked away at the bottom of the mountains. Stephane took me up a long and winding path before he finally stopped the car. The road there was silent and unpaved; I could see almost nothing, but he seemed to have memorized the way.

"Here we are," he said. We stepped out of the small patch of woods separating his car from the rest of the property, and I was suddenly greeted by the small, cozy-looking farmhouse. Just looking at it reminded me of the home where I grew up with my mother; it was built in the same style, painted with the same off-white. I half-expected to see Ista when we knocked at the front door, but instead it was a shorter, fairer woman, one I didn't recognize.

"Come in, come in," she said, beckoning to us with an urgent wave of her hand. "Hurry now, but watch your step!"

The inside of the house was just as warm as the outside, though it was very obviously owned by an older couple; the furnishings were rustic and farm-style, all in shades of reds and greens and soft blues. They even had the obligatory set of farm animal figurines set above the fireplace.

Stephane brought me to a door at the end of a narrow hallway, and from there we descended to the basement. I caught snippets of the conversation below before it went hush.

"It is only us," Stephane said. "I've brought a friend."

Clipper met us at the base of the stairs. "Connor! How's the viper's nest?"

"Everything's fine," I said, letting him clap me gently on the shoulder.

"Connor?"

Zenger appeared this time, hefty arms folded over his broad chest, smiling. "You made it! How are you? Your old man giving you a hard time?"

"No, he's-"

"Connor."

The words died in my throat. Zenger and Clipper's grins fell away. Stephane shuffled back toward the staircase, toward the safety of the shadows. I allowed myself to be nudged to the front of the group, where I could see Achilles seated on the other side of the basement. His hands were folded over the tip of his cane.

I took a step forward, steeling myself.

"I know you told me not to come," I started, "but-"

He held up his hand for silence. "I know," he said.

And then he smiled.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't wait on the sidelines for too long. I'm glad you've come, actually. We're almost ready to get started, and you're an important factor in our plan."

"Really?"

"You're our inside, Connor. You have access to Abstergo. Hell, you've got an in with one of the Grand Masters!" Zenger said, his toothy grin returning.

"It's not Haytham I'm focused on," I said. "Charles Lee is my target. I want a chance at him."

"And you will have one."

We gathered around Achilles in a loose circle. This was the first time in a long while that I'd been in the company of so many Assassins at once; usually we were scattered, stretched thin across the east coast while we did what we could to fend off the Templars. Even Achilles was sitting up straighter than usual, his face set and proud.

"It would be foolish to strike the Abstergo building directly. We've decided to isolate the most influential members and attack them one by one, or in small groups," he said. "Johnson, Hickey, Pitcairn, Church, Lee, Kenway… And of course Reginald Birch. He has the tightest security, so he will be left for the last."

I tried not to let my face betray my misgivings when he announced my father's name. I knew this day would come, knew it for as long as I'd known Achilles; there was no reason for me to be nervous about it now. He was a Grand Master. He had to go.

But I couldn't stop the strange, painful tug I felt in my chest.

"We'll separate into groups," Zenger continued, oblivious to my internal struggle. "Connor will be in Lee's, of course. That's been decided."

"Who will be in Haytham's?"

I tried to ask this as calmly as possible, but Achilles's gaze flickered to mine, and I saw the curiosity and concern there.

"I will," Clipper said.

"I'm taking Church," Zenger added, flexing his arms. "Bastard's had this coming for a while now."

I tried to keep Achilles's eyes on mine. "How will I be able to help?"

"You have access to Abstergo's building now. Feign an interest in the Templar cause. Your father will take it upon himself to start your training."

"He knows I'm an Assassin. He knows I live with you."

Achilles's brow furrowed, and the others fell silent.

"How long has he known?" Achilles asked.

"A few days now, but I suspect longer. He's kept a lot from me."

Zenger rubbed his chin. "And he hasn't taken you into Abstergo as a captive of the Templars? Just as a visitor?"

"Yes. He thinks I can still be…rehabilitated."

"Well, he's got another thing coming," Clipper said with a roll of his eyes.

"This changes nothing. We can still carry out the plan," I argued. "I can show an interest in the Order. I can get whatever information you need – addresses, schedules, whatever. Our groups will eliminate the major Templars and then move on to Birch."

"Haytham will be the first to go."

A dead weight dropped into my stomach. "Why?" I said, my voice shifting just enough that I knew the others could hear it.

"Because he'll know something's wrong when his subordinates start dropping dead. He won't let you roam free. He'll suspect you even more than he does now."

"I don't think-"

"We can't let him live any longer, Connor. He was the one in charge of the purge several decades ago – he has it within his power to be completely violent and endlessly ruthless. He might act the part of a concerned and caring father, but he-"

"I don't think Haytham Kenway is the man we've assumed he is."

Clipper made a noise like he was choking, and Achilles's gaze narrowed so sharply that I thought he might stand up and stick me with the end of his cane. I stood my ground, though, holding his gaze, daring the others to say something.

"I've known him for the last few months. Lived with him."

"For several days," Zenger said. "You hardly know him."

"I've known your father for years. Almost since the same month he arrived in the US," Achilles said. His voice was calm – chillingly so. "He is the man we assume him to be. He's a manipulator, boy, don't you see that? Haven't I told you time and time again? Haven't I shown you the things he's done?"

"That was years ago! You said it yourself! What if he's changed? What if he can see reason, see that we don't have to work against each other?"

I said this, but as I did, I thought back to what my grandfather had told me; that Haytham's hatred of Assassins stemmed from a Templar betrayal. If I told convince him that that was the truth, would he see the error of things? Or were the Templar ideals really that important to him?

Achilles was shaking his head, though. "The ways of the Order are too deeply ingrained in your father's mind. He's a Grand Master for a reason."

"Still-"

"I knew it was a mistake to let you get close to him. I thought something good might come of it, but…" He shook his head again, sadly this time – and that only made me angrier. My fists clenched at my side, and from the corner of my eye I saw Stephane take a cautious step closer to me.

"Perhaps you should sit this out," Zenger suggested.

"No."

"We trust you, Connor, but if Haytham were to catch wind of this… It would be a disaster. We might have another slaughter on our hands."

"What, do you think I'm going to run back to his house and tell him everything? You say you trust me, but-"

"Connor." Achilles's tone was gentle, but firm. Strict. "I agree with Zenger. You will still have your chance to confront Charles Lee and make him pay for what he's done, but until your father is taken care of, I can't let you leave this place."

Something inside of me cracked and shattered. An old rage was bubbling up, one I'd tried to stifle for so long. It threatened to pour over, to devour me again in the same way it had when I was younger, when I'd just lost my mother, when all I could think about was finding Charles Lee and-

"Connor," Clipper said, reaching out to touch my shoulder, but he stopped.

Someone upstairs was screaming.

I was the first to move. I pushed past the others and barreled up the stairs, threw the door open, pounded down the hallway and broke out into the living room. There was no blood, no bodies – none yet, at least. The older woman I'd met before was cowering behind a chair.

"What happened?" I demanded, sounding angrier than I'd intended. The woman flinched, but she pointed to the front door – wide open, letting in cool gusts of night air.

"There was someone, one of the Templars, I recognized him-"

I left before she could finish. I heard the others behind me, yelling, calling for me to come back, but I ignored them.

Did Haytham follow me here? Or have me followed by one of his underlings? If they escaped back to Abstergo with the location of this farmhouse…

A shape – too short to be my father, too lithe and slim – was running away from the house, back in the direction of the woods. I went after him, kicking up plumes of dirt and dust with my shoes, my hood flying off my head. I knew the others were behind me, but I could hear nothing aside from the beat of my own heart, the rush of blood in my ears.

A name came to me then: Thomas Hickey. It had to be him. It was his fault that Dobby was taken, and now he was going to report the rest of my Assassin brothers. My rage gave me strength, and I pushed myself harder.

He was so fast, though; faster than anyone I'd ever chased before, even when Achilles had the other Assassins lead me through the back streets of the city. Hickey wove between the trees, jumped nimbly over the upturned rocks and roots. But I'd grown up on the fringes of a forest, had spent so many years of my life chasing my friends between trees and boulders; this place was almost familiar to me, like an extension of myself I'd forgotten I had. The undergrowth only caught me a few times, but never enough to really slow me down.

Hickey came closer. He was breathing hard; I could hear it even above my own harsh exhales. He was older than me and tiring quickly. I took advantage of it and engaged the hidden blade at my wrist just before I flung myself through the air and caught him square on the shoulders.

He squirmed away and the blade sank into his arm instead of his heart. Hickey still hissed when he hit the ground, and a warm burst of blood hit my fingers.

"Ye little- ahh, shit," He pushed and pulled, but I put my full weight on his back and pressed the blade deeper.

The woods went silent around us, save for the wild thrash of his arms against the dead leaves beneath us. Where were the others? Were we that far from the farmhouse?

Still. It didn't matter. It wouldn't take much to drag him back. Killing him now – here, without taking the opportunity to draw information from him – would be a waste.

I was thinking this as I pulled him to his feet. Hickey spat at my face and I gave him another hard shove that sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Ye little cocksucking-"

A branch cracked somewhere in the distance. The others finally caught up to us. I grabbed Hickey by the elbow and drew him back up, where he stood spitting dirt and grass and curses in my direction.

The footsteps came closer – leisurely, almost. There were flashlights too, bobbing through the darkness.

It was around that point that I realized something was wrong. The others would've been running after us, wouldn't have had a chance to stop for flashlights. And there were too many, more than Zenger, Clipper, and Stephane.

Hickey started chuckling. "Startin' to get it now, mate?" he asked, brushing another dried leaf from his front.

I started to turn back the other way, toward the house, but the flashlights were coming from that direction too.

They were here.

They found us.

I was surrounded by Templars, and somehow I doubted they would believe that Hickey and I were out for a midnight walk.