Our trip home was infinitely shorter than the trip to get Sarah out of the Animus and stop her from making a big mistake. I hop on the only remaining bike and rev the engine. Casey gets on behind me and on the way home. Casey doesn't say much. She must still be figuring out who this Suna person is while I'm driving the motorcycle and trying to not fall asleep. Perhaps driving home after three hours in an Animus isn't my best idea.

Casey and I arrive back at home, and what we see wakes me up quickly. A moving van is parked in our driveway and Heather runs out to greet us.

"We sent Sarah to New York for treatment."

My jaw drops. "We're going home?"

Heather nods. "Joel is coming too. He got a transfer."

With sleep entirely out of my reach, I race to my room and start packing my things—I don't plan to change out of my Assassin gear. Thankfully, I don't have a lot of clothes and everything fits in one suitcase. Then something dawns on me.

"Ryan," I growl.

Erik is standing in my doorway. "He's coming too. He took Sarah to New York."

I frown but keep packing. Up until now, I never realized how much I miss home.

With my room stripped bare, I throw my clothes—and my throwing knives and dagger—into the truck and Heather smiles at me.

"Our flight leaves tonight."

I beam, and ten minutes later a cab pulls up and drives us to the airport. We get aboard the plane with no trouble (surprisingly, considering Casey and I are wearing Assassin gear and weapons). Naturally, we get a private jet. After the plane takes off, Joel walks over to me and sits next to me. I lean my head on his shoulders.

"She's better," he whispers.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who he is talking about.

I sigh. "I'm going to see her a few days after we arrive."

Joel removes my hood and kisses the top of my head. "Okay. Why don't you sleep?"

I nod and I get a few hours of sleep. When the plane lands, Joel lightly jostles me awake. I can make out the new World Trade Center (which believe it or not, was not a Templar attack) on the skyline.

After getting off the plane, Ryan meets us in the front of the airport with a shuttle van.

"Less conspicuous," he mutters as we squeeze into the tight space.

If Erik didn't tell me that Ryan went with Sarah back to New York, I'd probably kill him. I mutter profanities the entire ride home (mostly because Ryan seems to want to hit every freakin pothole in the state, and also, I just want to go home).

Joel moves a stray piece of hair from my face. "Your eyes are a shade lighter," he observes.

I swallow. "Yeah."

Joel smiles. "I like it."

I smile at him as he kisses my cheek. Erik and Casey are sharing a moment and I look out the window. It was six in the evening when we left California and it took three hours plus the time change, so it's around ten or eleven at night in New York. I wonder which patrols are out tonight. Soon, the house comes into the view and as soon as Ryan puts the car in park, Derek and I slam the van doors open and rush to the house. I find the key and open the door.

Same style, same rooms, same smell. Sarah will like it here. Casey and the others smile as they walk inside and everyone works to make the house feel like home again.

After spending two hours cleaning the house up, Casey and I trudge upstairs and part ways to our rooms. Joel will probably stay downstairs. I collapse on my bed, not bothering to take my weapons off, and fall into a blissful sleep. I'm glad that I don't see any more of Sehkat's memories. I don't want to without an Animus, at least.

I wake up at around midday and rub my eyes. I didn't want to confront Sarah so soon, so I decide on the spot that a patrol will help me to clear my head and think rationally about how to approach Sarah. I feel for her, I really do; I just don't want her to get hurt.

Not that it worked so well, I think grimly, remembering how I'd slammed her head against the Animus. But hey, it was either do it gently, or quickly and painlessly. Or in this case, painfully.

After I change my clothes and rearm myself—minus my throwing knives and dagger—and walk downstairs to see Casey chugging the last of the orange juice. I frown.

"Why do you look like you're about to go out to the city for a patrol?" Casey asks.

I shake my head. "You know me too well."

"It's my job." Casey looks geared-up. "Mind if I tag along?"

"Go ahead," I say.

"Me too?" Joel is laying on the couch, almost completely hidden from view.

I nod. "Yeah, sure."

He smiles and gets up. We take a car into town and park it in the outskirts. Since it's daylight, there's more of a chance that people will notice us if we're on the rooftops, so we stick to the ground and act casual.

For the longest time, there's absolutely no activity. The Templars are almost completely silent, which I don't like at all. Something in my gut tightens whenever I turn a corner and don't find an ambush.

"I don't like being on patrols without my dagger," Casey hisses.

Joel and I nod. "How do you think we feel when we can't have our daggers and throwing knives?"

"Good point."

Casey gets bored easily and begins to whistle a tune. The heat of the sun is making me irritable, and I start to round on her, ready to snap for her to be quiet, when someone bumps into me.

Joel and Casey tag-team to stop me from hitting the ground. I curse at my lack of attention and stand, whirling around to confront whoever bumped into me.

"S-Sorry!" a guy around our age exclaims frantically. "I didn't see where I was going!"

The guy has dark chocolate eyes, tan skin and messy black hair, and is wearing old blue jeans and a white T-shirt. He doesn't strike me as a Templar, but I know something about him is off.

I sigh. "It's okay. Kind of my fault too."

As we start to move away, he suddenly steps in front of us again. He suddenly looks excited, like a puppy.

"You're all wearing white hoods!" he observes.

I cross my arms. "What's your point?"

"I'm looking for someone with a white hood with a beak like yours! Except, they aren't wearing a jacket."

Like ours? Joel, Casey, and all have designs on our jackets. Mine red, Joels black, and Casey's is red. Joel and Casey tense behind me. Maybe my impression of this guy is wrong, and he is a Templar...

"Who?" I ask, an edge to my voice.

The guy doesn't seem to notice. "Sara," he answers. I immediately think of my sister, but the thought is blotted out when he continues, "Sara Taylor. Though she seems to be called 'Sam' these days..."

I raise an eyebrow. "What's your name?"

"Walter," he answers. "It's really important that I find her! Could you please help?"

I notice that his accent is American, but he speaks proper English. Like, Britain English.

"Yeah, we'll help," Casey says. I turn to her, and she shrugs. "No point not to. If they're an Assassin like us, then this guy's probably important."

Walter beams. "Thank-you very much! I'm a bit out of my element here, so I don't really know my way around."

"Where'd you last see her?" I ask with a sigh.

"Over there," he says, pointing to a sign at the other end of the street. "Or, at least, I think it was there..."

Joel groans and lightly punches Walter on the arm. "C'mon, man. Let's start searching."

We spend all of an hour scouring the streets for another person in a white hood. I start to get annoyed within the first ten minutes, and its a miracle that I haven't given up on finding that person, "Sara Taylor".

Eventually, we turn a corner into a back alley and see four bodies on the ground. A fifth, though still alive, is getting his lights punched out by an Assassin in robes I've never seen before. It's elaborate, not just a hoodie, but at least it seems to blend in well with crowds.

The Assassin hears us and looks up, forgetting the person she's beating up. "Walter!" she exclaims, dropping the man. "Where've you been?! I've been looking all over for you and had to stop to get some Templars! This place is crawling with them worse than their home base!"

"Sorry, love," Walter apologizes, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I'll try not to get lost again."

"You wouldn't get lost if you didn't run away every time you see a woman with a mini-skirt!" she chastises.

We snicker as the Assassin approaches us. "Sorry," Walter repeats. "I just don't get how women find such things attractive. It's not becoming of them."

"Well, I guess it's partially my fault you ran off. I did make us take a shortcut through the red-light district last night..." She hugs him. "Just try not to run away again."

"I'll try," he promises.

Joel nudges me gently. "To make this situation less awkward, let's hug too."

"Hey, I don't want to be the third wheel!" Casey whines.

I roll my eyes. "Hey, who are you guys exactly?"

It's like she finally notices us and releases Walter, and her face is red like a tomato. "Er... Sorry. I'm Sam, and this is Walter."

"And you're an Assassin?" I inquire.

She nods. "Mhm. You guys must be on patrol. Sorry, but I needed to vent a little bit... and besides, where are your weapons? Oh, nice hoodies."

At the same time, Joel, Casey, and I flick our wrists and our hidden blades appear beneath the fabric of our jackets. "Thank you."

"Impressive," the Assassin murmurs.

We retract our blades and shrug.

"I've never seen you around here before," I say.

Sam shrugs and smiles from under her hood. It feels like a familiar smile. "Hey, since you found Walter, how 'bout I treat you guys to a drink?"

Joel rubs his hands together. "Sounds good! Let's get someplace with some A/C!"

I don't mind much either. A cold drink sounds good. I don't remember New York being so hot. As we walk to the café, I can't help but notice how similar Sam's walking style is to Sehkat's (and unfortunately, mine.) We stop at a quiet shop and Sam orders a bunch of iced teas. I can't remember the last time I've had it.

Sam comes back and balances the drinks expertly. Once they're all handed out and we're sitting at a table in the corner, Joel, Casey and I remove our hoods. The A/C feels nice on our burning skin and I notice that Sam is staring at me funny.

Walter tentatively sips the cold drink and smiles. "This is delicious!" he exclaims before Sam can talk to me.

"It's water with a ton of flavoured sugar," Sam says. "Better than frozen tea any day."

"I prefer earl grey myself."

"I know. That's all you ever drank."

Walter smiles. We divert our attention elsewhere when he gets closer to Sam. He removes her hood and kisses her closed eyes gently.

"Keep wearing this thing and you'll be pale all the time," he remarks.

Their intimate moment done, I look back at the odd pair—and find my jaw on the floor. Intense, liquid-gold eyes stare back at me. They're not just familiar; they're Sofia's eyes. Suna Ibn-La'Ahad's eyes.

Casey notices too. "Suna..." she mutters quietly.

Not quietly enough, it seems.

Sam/Sofia/Suna's eyes narrow, and she tenses. "What did you just say?"

Walter wraps an arm around her shoulders protectively, and I realize that Casey has just forced us into a very bad, very complicated situation.

I AM ON A ROLL WITH MY UPDATES. THAT CREDIT GOES TO MY BETA WHITEZYPHR FOR KEEPING ME GOING WITH IDEAS. SAM/SARA/SUNA/SOFIA BELONG TO WHITEZEPHYR!