Desmond's thoughts of Ezio lingered (along with his headache) as Shaun drove the team of Assassins further away from Monteriggioni. The longer he pondered over it, the more Desmond convinced himself that he had seen the real Ezio. Not just a vision of the past, but a projection, a ghost that had responded when Desmond reached for him. Desmond contemplated telling the group what had happened but the more he thought about it, the more it sounded like a bad idea.

Shaun would just dismiss it out of hand, insisting Ezio's reaction was just a figment of his imagination. He'd surely slide in some snarky remark about Desmond losing his mind, as if he wasn't already acutely aware of that probability.

Lucy would assume it was a hallucination like any other. Like Shaun, she'd probably assert that Ezio reaching out towards Desmond was either his imagination running wild or just a coincidence.

Rebecca might actually believe him, but then she'd worry even more over his mental state and insist they keep Desmond out of the Animus for a while, significantly slowing their progress. His father would never allow that of course and it was sure to become a point of contention among the group.

His father, well, Desmond really wasn't sure how his father would react. It had been ten years since they'd last seen each other. Ten long years to mull over their past.

According to Lucy, he'd officially been promoted to Mentor since Desmond had left. In charge of the whole operation now. Desmond almost laughed out loud at the irony: the Mentor's son defecting from the Order. The gossip that must've caused.

Desmond had imagined how a reunion with his father would go more in the past month than he had in the last decade, and now that William was sitting right across from him, he was at a complete loss for words.

And it seemed as though William didn't know what to say either. That or he just didn't care to say anything to his estranged son. It was always so hard to tell with him. Either way, his focus was on the tablet he held in his hands, and that suited Desmond just fine.

The van remained deafeningly silent until late in the afternoon when Shaun pulled over to fill up the gas tank.

"Five minutes," Bill warned.

Everyone poured out of the van except Bill who stayed rooted to his seat, tablet still in hand. Lucy and Rebecca bolted to the rest stop to use the restroom and buy snacks for the road while Shaun wasted no time in filling the gas tank.

It was clear that Bill was still irate from being called to Monteriggioni to free them from jail. After all, he much preferred to do things behind the scenes. And being called out into the field to deal with a cell of Assassins that wasn't so much in imminent danger as locked up due to foolishness and stupidity only served to irritate him further.

It was no wonder that Lucy and Rebecca spent the entire drive texting each other rather than talk out in the open. Anything they had to say would surely be under Bill's intense scrutiny, despite them not being the instigators of the previous nights' forays. Bill wouldn't see the difference. In his mind, they were all to blame, as it always was before Desmond ran away.

Desmond, meanwhile, leaned against the side of the van and looked out at the serene sunset over the Tuscan countryside. He was rarely allowed outside while the sun was still up anymore and he'd started to miss seeing it everyday.

A breeze picked up, wafting the scents of fresh cut grass and gasoline fumes his direction. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent that reminded him all too well of the day he left the Farm….

He'd been on the run all day, having left just as the morning bells tolled across the compound. The chimes had drowned out most of his mother's pleas for him to come back until, by the time he reached the treeline, he could only hear the ringing in the distance.

For the first time in his life, the skills his father had drilled into him day in and day out were finally being put to use. Not to fight some invisible enemy or some faceless corporation, but to escape his own family.

He fled through the trees at breakneck speed, not daring to slow down. His father, despite his age, was as agile and cunning as they came, and he was sure to gather the rest of the compound to form a hunting party. Any respite would surely cost Desmond his freedom, and so he kept moving.

"Water runs downhill," he recited to himself when he came to a small stream, a mantra that had been instilled in him since the first time he'd been turned loose in the woods alone. "Follow it and eventually you'll hit a river or lake."

He followed the stream until it crossed underneath an access road and a sign to his right caught his eye: "To Hill City."

A city was as good of a place as any to hideout.

He set off down the road, staying hidden amongst the trees in case anyone happened to drive by. Sure enough, perhaps a half hour later one of his neighbors drove by, his head swiveling side-to-side. Desmond waited for the car to pass behind a large pine tree, breathing a sigh of relief that he'd had the forethought to not walk on the road. Just in case, he waited a few minutes after the car disappeared before continuing on.

It was late afternoon by the time he arrived in Hill City, where he'd expected the buildings to be much taller.

Nobody paid him much mind as he walked through the town. He was just another tourist passing through.

His stomach growled as the smell of burgers grilling wafted over from a nearby restaurant. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash he'd stolen from his father's not-so-secret desk drawer. He felt a twinge of guilt at resorting to petty theft, but if he was going to make it on his own, he'd have to learn to make some hard choices.

He grabbed a few bags of snacks and a bottle of water from the nearby gas station and wandered around to the side of the building to eat where he couldn't be seen from the road. He scarfed down a bag of salty chips and downed half the bottle of water to quench his growing thirst before moving on.

Even the five minutes to eat and rest had been enough time for the acrid odor of gasoline to permeate his clothes, mixing with the sweet aroma of fresh-cut grass from the park across the street. The distinctive smells lingered with him through his hike down the mountains, all the way to Rapid City.

He was surprised to have made it this far. He turned back towards the mountains, a small voice in his head telling him to go back to what was familiar, what was easy. But a larger voice told him to keep going, reminding him of the torment he'd been through over the last sixteen years, reminding him that his life wasn't easy, and it would only get worse if he went back.

And so he continued on, free of his father's confines; free of his rules and his training. Oh the endless training. He smiled, thinking about how he'd never have to train for an attack that was never coming. How he'd never again have to hear about crazy conspiracy theories or this supposed war between Assassins and Templars or—

"Desmond," Bill said sharply, cutting off his thoughts. "Let's go."

Desmond opened his eyes and leaned around the back of the van to see everyone else had piled in and was waiting for him. He sighed, then climbed into the back of the cramped van.

Bill closed the door behind him, sealing Desmond off from the outside world once more.