After the fire, after being rescued by her sister, after the disappearance of Antinanco, Anne became reclusive, quiet and a shell of her once adventurous self. The Johnsons took care of both the Young girls and baby Nathan for as long as they could. As the winter months progressed, Mr Johnson developed a terrible cold and all the pair's funds had to go towards the wellbeing of the husband. With little choice, Mary collected the fortune that her father had left behind and reclaimed her home. The Johnsons promised to try to support the young women in whatever way they could but they found it difficult to do so. Both the Johnsons and the Youngs had to get by on the money Mr Johnson had saved and the left over fortune Edward had kept by for his daughters. Between them, it was just enough to survive.

It was cold and silent when they opened the door. Anne, scarred and sickly, gazed around their home as they took the first few steps inside. She clutched her baby son tight and the two young women ascended the stairs in a frighteningly quiet atmosphere.

"We'll make this home again," Mary said, breaking the silence as they entered Anne's bedroom. "When Papa gets home, it'll be like nothing changed."

Anne gave a weak smile at the thought and placed Nathan gently down on her bed. She removed her necklace and set it down beside the baby, watching the child reach for it and play with the leather cord and the beads along it.

"I'm so sorry for what happened," Mary said, putting a hand on her sister's shoulder. "I know how much you loved him."

"I told him I'd be there when he got back," she muttered softly.

Nathan suddenly began to cry, no longer distracted by the necklace he was playing with. Anne lifted him up, humming softly in an attempt to soothe him.

"Your father isn't far," Anne tried to comfort her son, feeling tears fall down her own cheeks, "don't worry, my love, you're not alone."


Weak as she was, it wasn't long before Anne succumbed to illness. It was assumed she caught flu from Mr Johnson, growing more frail every day. Soon, he gave up the ghost and died. Left with nothing more, Mrs Johnson moved to Boston to live with her sister, leaving the three abandoned. The girls still held onto the hope that their father would return but as two years passed, followed by two more, they wondered helplessly where he could be. Mary cared for her sister who eventually became too weak to leave her bed and watched over Nathan as he grew.

One day, in mid July 1765, when the buds has blossomed and the colours of Lexington where as alive as it was on their first day thirteen years previously, there was a knock on the door. Mary answered and nearly fell over as she saw her caller.

Achilles Davenport stood before her, face weary, hair growing white, leaning for support on a crutch.

"Achilles!" Mary exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "Where have you been?"

"I've been staying overseas for a while," he replied, his voice croaky. "You look well, Mary, how is your sister?"

Her face lost its smile.

"Not so well. She is desperately ill."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Where is my father?" Mary pressed. "What happened to him after the Precusor hunt? Is he with you?"

Achilles opened his mouth to reply, choosing his words carefully as a voice, not his own, rang out.

"Aunt Mary?"

"I'm here!" She called back which resulted in the patter of feet as a child ran towards the direction of her voice.

It was Achilles' turn to nearly fall over. A small boy, seeing the man at the door, hid behind Mary, peering at the visitor.

"This is Nathan," Mary told Achilles, "say hello to Achilles, Nathan."

"Hello," he said quietly, raising a hand in a timid attempt of a greeting.

"This is your nephew?" Achilles asked and Mary nodded. "Hello, young one," he smiled, causing Nathan to grin in response. The aging man noticed how the boy's skin tone was darker than Mary and Anne's although not as dark as his own. He resembled the indigenous people that lived all around the Americas. "I gather this isn't her husband's son."

Mary sighed. "It's a long story. Why don't you come inside and I'll tell you all what's happened since you've been away."

"I really can't stay," he shook his head, "I must return to my homestead. I've only come to tell you of your father."

"Yes?" Mary's face appeared hopeful for a moment, then faded into a more distraught expression as Achilles told her what fate had befallen Edward Young.

"He... He died, Mary."

Mary held a hand to her face, the other gripping the door frame as she found her knees grow weak. This wasn't exactly a surprise, both Anne and Mary had their low points where they doubted their father would ever return home. But they would fill each other with hope, empty promises of one day the man that had been gone for so long just arriving on their door step. This was a heavy hit.

"How... How did he die?" She managed.

"He was killed by a Templar." He bowed his head. "I'm so sorry, Mary, if there's anything I can do-"

"You can't do anything!" She exploded, causing Nathan to jump back. "My sister is at death's door and my mother and father have already passed the threshold! I am an orphan caring for my dying sister and her son!"

"I know, I know how it feels to lose everyone you care about," Achilles said sympathetically, "trust me, I know."

"I'm sorry," Mary sniffed, "I'd forgotten you lost your wife and son too."

"You were so young then, I doubt you remember young Connor at all. You and your sister used to run all about the yard with him, playing tag and chase." Achilles chuckled. "Even then you were a ruthless little tyke."

Mary gave a slight smile at the distant memory.

"Could you... Could you come inside and tell my sister," she pleaded. "I don't quite have the heart for it."

"Of course," he gave her a gentle smile and placed a hand on her shoulder as they entered the house, slowly walking up the stairs as Nathan bounded ahead. The young boy hadn't quite understood the conversation but he knew it was something sad.

"Mama," he said, opening the door to her room, "there's someone here to see you."

Anne beckoned him over as Achilles and Mary followed him in. The first thing he saw was the scars, horrendous burns that worked their way across her face and down her arms. Her eyes were sunken and dull and her lips were thin. Her features were so fragile, it appeared she would break if she smiled.

"Anne," Mary began, casting a helpless look over to Achilles.

Anne put things together quicker than Mary had. In her weak state, she didn't have the distractions of chores or work to stop her mind from wondering. The possible death of her father played a lot on her mind, and now, it was confirmed.

"Father's gone, isn't he?" She spoke softly.

"I'm sorry, Anne. Your father has indeed passed on."

Anne gave a heavy sigh as one tear made its path down her cheek. She let her head fall back and she closed her eyes.

"Anne." Mary said suddenly. "Anne?"

The young woman did not lift her head.

Mary left Achilles side and knelt down beside her sister, her nephew just next to her. Anne's breathing became slower, her chest began to rise and fall less frequently.

"Anne, don't leave me!" Mary begged. "Please, Anne!"

"My waiting is over," she whispered.

"No, no, no it's not," Mary grabbed her sister's arms, trying to shake her back into the land of the living, tears now flowing freely down her face. "You have to see Nathan grow up! You have to live to to see that, Anne!"

"What makes you think I'm leaving?" She replied, a faint smile on her face.

"Mama?" Nathan whimpered, confused and upset by his aunt's distress.

"My precious boy," Anne turned her head to face him, lifting a hand to caress his cheek, "I'll always be watching over you, my darling." She tapped a finger on his chest. At first, Mary thought she was referencing his heart, but when Nathan pulled out the necklace he had worn ever since he was born, she realised what her sister was talking about. The eagle and the songbird.

"I'm going to see your father," Anne told him. "We'll be together, taking care of you."

"Take care of me here!" Nathan begged, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck and crying into her shoulder.

"Hush now," her voice grew ever fainter. "You're not alone, my love. You're never alone."

Then, her breathing stopped. Her pulse stilled. Her heart did not beat.

"Anne? Anne?!" Mary cried, furiously trying to call her sister back into life.

"Mama! No! Mama!" Nathan screamed, joining his aunt's hysteria.

Achilles stood at the door, tears falling down his own face. Mary was right. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't save Edward, he couldn't save the Brotherhood, he couldn't even keep his own family alive. What could he do for the last surviving daughter of an Assassin and her mixed race nephew?

Nothing. He was a failure and he was better off alone.

With the mournful cries of heartbreak still fresh in his mind, Achilles left the Young's home to return to his homestead where he would wallow in self pity and pain. Shay and Haytham should have killed him. That way, there would be some recompense for all the destruction he had wrought on others' lives. Despite Anne's dying words, he knew it was possible to be alone. At this moment, he vowed never to let anyone else into his life. That way, he couldn't hurt anyone else. Now, he would be well and truly alone.