Early morning, just after midnight

April 26th, 1865

The former Confederate state of Virginia

The twenty-five members of the Sixteenth New York calvary dismounted from the steamboat that they took, following a lead.

The D.C. detectives that were aboard had informed her that all of the co-conspirators had been arrested after one of them entered the home of a woman that Booth was known to frequent. He also told her that the Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton, offered one-hundred-thousand dollars for Booth and his companion, Herold.

Something told her that the hunt for Booth was drawing to an end.

Atop her horse, Margaret examined the tracks, not having the strength to dismount and kneel closer. She thought she knew exhaustion before, but this was something new.

She dared not rest long for fear of the Booth eluding her.

"Madame."

Margaret nodded to the D.C. detective tiredly. "I have spoken with a witness, who says that there were a couple of the soldiers taken to a farm near here. I believe we have him."

"We are under orders to take him alive," the detective informed her. "He is to be tried for his actions and to face justice."

"Why do I have a feeling that the trial will be nothing more than a formality?" she muttered to herself. She waited until the detective had mounted his horse before moving. The procession made its way through the foliage long into the night until they reached a farmstead. Margaret felt slightly rejuvenated as the soldiers and the detectives started to surround the place. While the detective knocked on the door of the house, Margaret snuck over towards the barn. She could hear whispered arguing between two people, both of them sounding male.

"I want out, John. I'm finished."

Margaret froze.

The one speaking…maybe he was David Herold. It certainly didn't sound like Booth.

"Well, it's too late. You should've backed out when we left the doc's place." John's voice shot back. "The minute that the soldiers lay eyes on you, they're going to shoot you dead."

She heard the two walk away, retreating inside a barn. Margaret bared her teeth in anger.

"Detectives!" she called softly. The man glanced back, and she motioned for them, pointing towards the barn. "They're in there."

Glancing at her pocket watch, Margaret took note of the time, just now passing two in the morning of April twenty-sixth, as the soldiers surrounded the barn. The commanding officer ordered everyone to hold their fire unless they were fired at. Margaret knew that the man was trying to make it so that they could take John in for a trial and execution.

But she didn't let him know that she wouldn't let John leave that barn with his heart beating.

"John Wilkes Booth! David Herold! Come out with your hands up."

There was a pause of silence that stretched out far too long before someone stepped out of the barn. Margaret watched as a clean-shaven man of around twenty-three stepped out of the barn, hands raised in the air and his holster empty.

"Don't shoot!" David Herold cried. "Please! I surrender!"

The Union soldier gestured for him to come closer, and to keep his hand up. As soon as he got closer, several soldiers grabbed ahold of the man and tied his hands behind his back. Margaret held his gaze as he was led to a guard of about five members. Once he was taken care of, everyone turned toward the barn. Margaret shook her head, not feeling that there was enough being done at the moment. Without letting the captain know what she was doing, Margaret ducked inside the barn right as the soldiers started to light torches.

Margaret faced the assassin right as the soldiers tossed the torches into the barn.

Her eyes burned hotter and brighter than the fires that were slowly eating at the wood.

"Why did you do it?" she asked without preamble.

She was tired. Tired of fighting this stupid fight that took her husband and kept her away from her family. Margaret was far beyond angry at this man that threatened the small sliver of peace that was just within reach.

"You wouldn't understand." Booth hissed. "Stuck in your ways as it is, you wouldn't be able to understand what I had to do to bring back the glory of the Confederacy!"

"What you did was not for the Confederacy. What you did was because you had this grand vision of being a savior to a country that was tired of fighting." Margaret stepped forward, flicking her wrist and engaging her Blade. Though she knew that it would be a bullet that would take him. "You took the only person that was capable of putting this country back together away. History will remember you as a villain."

That threw the man into a fit of laughter. "You are such a fool! I took away the Assassin's puppet."

What? The confusion must have shown on her face because Joh chuckled lowly.

"Oh, this is rich. You don't know do you?" John tossed his pistol and crutch to the ground and began to dig through his coat pocket. Margaret tensed, preparing for another weapon, but she relaxed only a fraction when he brandished a pocket journal. "Just look at this. Your little order is responsible for the war that you blamed the Templars for."

"You're lying!"

"I'm not." He frisbeed the journal which Margaret caught easily. "Go on. It's not like I'm going to make it out of here alive anyway. I have nothing left to lose."

The flames had all but engulfed the barn. Booth started to bounce on the balls of his feet. Margaret, fearing that the man would try to rush her, whipped out her preloaded pistol and took aim as the murderer dashed through the barn doors.

Time slowed down.

Margaret, in one last act of desperation fired the shot that would later be credited to a young soldier that had taken up position behind her without her knowing. She watched as the bullet sliced through John's neck and the man himself falling to the ground. Picking up the journal, Margaret walked out of the flaming barn, her eyes still alight with anger.

The man was still alive, though he would be dead before long.

"The wound is mortal." She whispered to the commander.

During his last hours on earth, Margaret perused through John's diary, knowing full well that he wouldn't give her what she wanted. And while there were answers given to many of her questions in the journal, there was still something that left her confused.

On the eve of the war, back in 1861, John recorded a conversation he had with a man. The man, according to John's writing, had met with a woman by the name of Diana who had promised to show him and the soon-to-be rebel army certain places where they could enter at Fort Sumter with minimum cost.

Not only was the Fort a Federal garrison, it was also a former Assassin hideout that had been used to store several Artefacts of Eden.

Margaret's breath caught in her throat as she remembered when Mentor Kellan had only just managed to escape the attack when it happened.

But…. that would mean….

"Is he still alive?!" she demanded suddenly. The man who had sat himself by her when she wasn't pay attention jumped in shock, startled by her shout. "Please tell me he's still alive!"

"Uh…. uh yeah. But only just barely."

She marched towards where John had been placed, surrounded by five of the men. The assassin was struggling to breath as Death and daylight approached. His eyes, glazing over with pain and the looming of Death, darted over to her.

"Did the Mentor have something to do with the war?" she asked.

Instead of answering her, John turned towards the soldiers and whispered, "My hands. I wish to see my hands."

Margaret's annoyance flared as the soldiers complied. The group watched the man examine his hands with a gaze that was non-seeing.

"Useless…Useless…" he muttered.

A moment later, John Wilkes Booth expired as the sun crested the horizon.

Margaret quickly ripped out the eighty-three pages that had mentioned the Assassins and the Templars in some way, shape or form before handing the diary to the confused commander.

"I would be most grateful if you were not to mention my involvement in this." She informed him as she walked towards her horse. "It would be better for you and your families if you forgot these events."

"Thank you. For your help, that is." The man said.

Margaret glanced towards the man, feeling exhausted and ready to fall into bed. "I still have other things to accomplish before I can rest. I wish you luck in your future endeavors."

She gently kicked the horse's side and left the Union soldiers in the start of the new day.