Chapter 16: A Step Too Far

"Shay…" Kira chided softly, almost breathless with disbelief. The few, sweet seconds she had spent hoping to escape without any trouble were an outlandish fantasy in retrospect. It was Shay, after all. She should have known better.

The man's hand hovered expectantly as he waited for Connor to accept his gesture, his ring catching the light- gleaming as though conscious of its own significance.

Connor regarded it, eyes narrowed in hostility. He was piecing together all that had occurred- formulating a reaction that Kira was sure would be anything other than him shaking Shay's hand. The ring glinted once more and Kira stepped forwards, slapping the hand away in a desperate movement- anything to usher that dreaded symbol from centre stage.

Because that would conveniently set all of Connor's doubts aside, wouldn't it?

Shay glowered, clutching his hand as though he'd been fatally wounded, though the show of betrayal paled in comparison to that of Connor's. The young Assassin had turned to Kira, suspicion rampant in his usually trusting gaze.

"Connor," she stammered, "please, I can-"

A dismissive scowl and Connor made to get away from her; she shot a sudden hand out to stop him. "Who is this, Kira?" he demanded, spinning back to shrug free of her grasp.

"I can explain- I will explain- but it is a long story. It's difficult to-"

"Tell me," he insisted, his tone as unrelenting as his demeanour. His dark eyes shone. "Please."

Kira stared back, the answers he sought inexplicably caught in her throat. Biding her time with a meagre nod, she looked to the ground, striving to weave years of doubts and questions into a workable offering. Her arms crossed protectively as she relived age-old discussions with Achilles. Age-old lies.

She glanced to Shay as though to reaffirm herself of his being there, and he smiled reassuringly, sensing her discomfort. "I'll leave you two to talk," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder in passing. "Best hurry if you can though, love."

She nodded again: more confident than the last. Shay's exit would provide a few much-needed seconds. She watched him go, all too aware of the impatience Connor radiated beside her.

"Shay… is an old friend," she spoke at last.

"A Templar?"

"No." Instinctive. Defensive. Not actually correct anymore. "Well, yes, I suppose he is. He was not always, though." Her arms uncrossed. "He was an Assassin- like us."

Already Connor's mood had shifted, curiosity slaying his previous qualms. "Then why-"

"Did he leave? Is he a Templar?" Kira finished for him. She shot him a dark look. "I don't know."

"If you would only ask Achilles-"

"He'll lie."

"Achilles would never lie to us."

"No?" Kira's arms crossed stubbornly again. There was a time she would have found the young man's naivete endearing- inspiring, even. Now it was just unspeakably frustrating. "He told me Shay was dead- had me believe it for eighteen years. You just saw the man yourself. It was a lie. All of it."

Silenced as he considered the truth of this, Connor shifted on his feet, uncertain. "I do not understand," he admitted on a tentative breath.

Kira released a huff of similar misgiving. "Neither do I." She straightened. "But I will learn the truth of it. Shay will tell me."

It was a confession of sorts; she was going with him, and she wouldn't be stopped. Connor was well-acquainted with such stubbornness. He nodded slightly, the gesture strained. "You trust him?"

Of course she did. She could always trust Shay. "I do. He would never lie to-"

She trailed off. Hesitated. Connor's voice in her head: Achilles would never lie to us.

He looked to her now, concern in his expression; he too had seen the irony. Unease gripped Kira's body- torturous tendrils that tightened and threatened to steal her breath.

She could always trust Shay.

Determined to believe it, she stepped towards the door. Her stride was thrown when Connor moved to intercept her. "Kira," he began, his voice more authoritative than it had any right to be. "Do this, if you have to. But he is a Templar. Next time?" He leant towards her, exploiting his larger stature- towering over her. "Next time I will kill him."

Kira nodded, terse and obedient. It was Haytham. God, it was Haytham- from the cold conviction of the tone to even the physical act, tailored to intimidate. Sometimes the resemblance was as foreign as snow in summer. Other times- times like this- it was as glaringly inescapable as a midday sun.

Overcoming an automatic fear, the woman summoned an easy-going smile. Connor was the least of Shay's worries; if the Templar decided to drop by unannounced again, she'd save the pleasure of killing him for herself. "Thank you, Connor."

She reached for her coat, pulling it hurriedly over her shoulders. Whilst she didn't need his permission to leave, she was not about to test it by taking her time. Besides, she was still in the dark about why Shay had come. Perhaps it was urgent. Perhaps it would-

"Be careful, Kira. Please."

That was Connor. She glanced over at him as she buttoned her coat, the warmth of his words making her grin. "I will be. Try not to worry."

He'd worry anyway, but that couldn't be helped. With a nod of farewell, she set off to find answers for them both.

…

"So… how did things go with your young friend?"

Shay's eyes sparkled with amusement, his voice melodic as Kira approached. He had taken to leaning up against a tree, though he straightened to meet her, sensing her frustration.

"You bastard," she exclaimed, punctuating the insult with a harsh shove, though the smile she wore wreaked havoc on the effect. "Achilles would likely disown me if he saw you here. You think that is funny?"

"Worse things could happen," Shay confirmed with a chuckle, catching her hands before she could do any more damage.

It was tremendously difficult to not be cheerful around Shay; he had a talent for finding levity in almost any circumstance. It had been a welcome change when Kira was younger- in her earliest days of training, when her mentors were strict and their exercises demanding. Back when being an Assassin meant something: when there were reputations to uphold and expectations to live up to.

That was a long time ago. Nowadays there was only Achilles to disappoint- not that that couldn't be entertaining.

"Why are you here, Shay?" she asked, stepping back to return to the present.

The Templar's face dropped- his posture slackening in a way that suggested he had not been looking forward to the question. "The artefact- the crystal ball. It was stolen."

"Stolen?" Repeating the word didn't make it any more believable. "How could it have been stolen? I only gave it to Haytham yesterday."

Shay shrugged noncommittally. "I wasn't the one guarding it, lass."

The statement simmered in the silence. Kira stared quietly ahead of her, clearly lost in thought. Then she began to laugh. "Heavens," she chirped, "he lost it already?" She laughed some more. "No wonder he did not come to tell me himself."

"I'm sure that he-"

"The great and incomparable Haytham Kenway!" she continued before realising she had interrupted him. "Forgive me, Shay. It is almost too good to be true." She sighed as she regained her composure. "Ah… we must find the thief so that I may shake his hand."

Shay had tolerated the ridicule with a great deal more grace than his Grand Master would have done, a corner of his lips lifting. His patience had paid off. "Oh, so we can count on your assistance, then?"

At this Kira sobered, though her voice was still light. "That is why you're here?"

He nodded.

"No, I want you to say it."

Shay crossed his arms. Clicked his tongue. "This is cruelty, lass-"

"Say it."

He laughed softly. "Fine. Yes, Kira, your help would be very much appreciated."

Kira grinned, satisfied, before placing her hands on her hips- making a show of considering the proposition. The artefact had to be returned to Connor's people. With unknown thieves? It was likely to be lost: traded about in some dubious circles. In Haytham's hands, she could always toy with the notion of reclaiming it when his supposed conscience failed to rear its head.

"I will help you," she concluded, "on the provision that I will, naturally, be owed some grand favour in turn."

"Naturally. Though if you ever want anything of me, you need only-"

"From Haytham," she added with a purse of her lips. "A favour from him would prove invariably more profitable. He is a Grand Master after all, and you are, well…" she gestured vaguely at him, as though that were explanation enough.

Shay's face had dropped, an eyebrow raised in expectation.

"A lackey," Kira finished with a sweet smile.

The man scoffed disbelievingly, though there was more admiration than resentment in his gaze. "Oh," he spoke with newfound clarity, "so this is the treatment I'm to expect now, eh?"

She shrugged, setting out towards the stables and giving him a sympathetic pat as she passed. "You picked your side. Now come," she turned back to him with a smirk, "wouldn't want to keep Grand Master waiting, hmm?"

Another scoff- an incredulous shake of the head- and Shay followed without protest.

…

"Are we close?" Kira whispered.

She and Shay had reached Boston in complete silence, which was notably uncharacteristic.

"Yes. We had better go the rest of the way on foot."

They had talked at first, back when they were still navigating the vast depths of the Frontier. Then the conversation had strayed to where it was always bound to: everything. Everything that had happened. Everything unexplained or uncertain. Every truth concealed.

Kira had her answers. They were long overdue, and they had taken their toll.

Reaching the edge of the road, she dismounted, leading her steed to a nearby fence and setting about fastening the reins there. Her mind wandered as her fingers fumbled, the simple knot refusing to tighten as she had guided it to countless times before. Sighing, she tried again, only to watch the knot slacken around the post and slip free.

She cursed, losing her patience.

"Here." Shay stepped in front of her, reaching for the reins and securing them as he had his own. He had sensed her trouble. Had sensed the whole shift of her mood; it had hardly been subtle. One of her hands still rested upon the fence, and gingerly, he placed one of his on top of it.

She sighed. "It's alright, Shay. I'm alright." Her fingers laced limply with his.

"I know." He gave them a gentle squeeze. "But I understand if this changes things. If it changes what you think of me. I wouldn't blame you if-"

"It doesn't," she withdrew her hand swiftly, stepping back.

It was what Shay wanted to hear, but he didn't believe it. "I killed them, Kira," he pressed. "Everyone. Adéwalé, Kesegowaase… Hope, and-"

"I know that!" she hissed quietly, needing him to stop. Names summoned faces. Memories. "It is hard to hear it was you- of course it is. But if what you say is true, about Lisbon, about the precursor sites," she looked to him earnestly, "then I do not see what other choice you had. What you did, you did for the greater good. It was right, I think, even though it cost the lives of our friends."

Shay seemed to relax- his eyes had softened, his stance no longer tense. Kira could forgive his anxiety: he had lost so much already; they both had. She wasn't about to lose him over the past. Even if that past had planted doubts.

"I trust you, Shay," she reassured, "and you are still my friend. I cannot resent you for doing the right thing, unfortunate though it was."

He smiled with relief, looking very much as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Glad to hear it," he said. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Should we go?"

Kira hummed in agreement, matching his parting stride to draw level with him. One particular doubt still plagued her mind, though, and she voiced it before they could make it too far.

"If you'd have had to, back then… would you have killed me, too?"

Shay had stopped ahead of her, though he didn't turn to meet her gaze. The answer was yes- how could it not be? Her life, in exchange for the security of likely thousands others? It would have been the right thing. It would always be the right thing.

She wanted him to say no.

After an eternity, he turned with a grin. "I would never have had to, you'd have come with me."

It wasn't 'no', but Kira's heart stopped all the same. He was right. He was right. She knew it. Achilles would have known it too.

She had never thought about that.

…

Haytham stood a little way ahead. Arms folded, leant pensively against the alley wall: the very image of concentration as his eyes studied the street and buildings before him. Kira had to resist rolling hers.

"If you don't mind my asking, what is the nature of your relationship with Master Kenway?" Shay asked. They were still out of earshot. Still had time.

Kira slowed her pace, biding it, and looked up at her friend, amused. "I despise the man. He's gone out of his way to make my life miserable in recent months."

"Why?"

"Because he can. It amuses him, I imagine. My hatred of him is most ardently reciprocated, of that I am certain."

Shay chuckled, already enjoying the dynamic her words painted. "He'll grow on you," he beamed.

The temptation was now too great and her eyes rolled. "I do not want him to grow on me, I want him to leave me alone."

Time ran out and the man in question turned, hearing their voices. They both smiled innocently.

"Miss Lawrence," Haytham greeted, moving away from the wall. "So good of you to join us."

"Yes, well," she smiled still, teeth gritted behind it, "far be it for me to deny competence from someone so direly in need of it."

Shay snorted, feigning a cough as Haytham looked warningly between them. Warning glances were an inevitable product of the pair's relationship- even a staple of it. It wasn't their first, and so long as they both lived it was far from being their last.

"You know what you have to do, Shay?" Haytham issued, unamused.

"Of course, sir. I'll leave at once."

A nod. "Good luck."

Shay had already made it a few paces from them, but he spun on his heels at the words.

"He makes his own luck," Kira spoke under her breath with a smirk. She was looking away: down the alley. She didn't need to see Shay to know he had stopped.

Haytham alone caught the remark, and he turned to frown at her.

"I make my own luck, Master Kenway!" Shay declared, reseizing the man's attention and disappearing soon after.

Kira laughed quietly to herself, her smile only fading as she realised Haytham was watching her. She was half-inclined to ask what it was he found so engaging.

Instead, she made her way towards the end of the alley, staying close to where the shadows fell thickest. There, she crouched behind an overturned barrel and a few haphazardly stacked crates, peering over at her supposed target. The building was unduly lively for the time of night. Silhouettes passed soft glowing windows, rhythmic and repeated- too structured to reflect any typical activity inside. There were guards patrolling; several guards. She tracked their faceless figures, making a tally in her head.

This would not be a simple in-and-out theft.

With a soft rustle, Haytham joined her behind her cover. "You have a plan?" she whispered.

He cast a withering sideways glance at her: obviously. Then he pointed forwards. "You see the figures moving past the windows? Periodic, like-"

"Clockwork? Guards. Clearly." It was her turn to look insulted.

Haytham smiled appreciatively. "The artefact is being kept on the ground floor," he tried again, pausing for a retort, but it did not come. "Wewill enter there," he signalled a window on the second floor, "and provide a distraction whilst Shay enters through the back door. He will take the artefact whilst their attention is diverted- cutting them off should they try to flee with it."

Kira listened, nodding tentatively. "What sort of distraction?" It was another obvious question, but she needed to be sure.

As expected, Haytham's eyes met hers, apathetic. "We kill them."

"And that is the only way?"

"Depends," he mused, "on whether you want the artefact back."

She narrowed her eyes at him, pulling her hood over her head. "You mean if I want you to have it back."

He smiled again; they were on the same page.

The plan established, they made their way over to the building that neighboured their target, crossing the street at an interval where the windows were clear. Kira watched as Haytham scaled the nearest ledge, then sill- each movement too quick for thought: almost certainlypremeditated. She followed on, determined to match his pace.

Determination could only compensate for so much of her shorter stature and reach. It was strenuous work, and by the time they arrived at the roof, Kira direly needed a break.

Doubling over slightly, she strove to catch her breath. Haytham turned to her; she straightened. After a moment of assessment- and a slight smirk to suggest he wasn't at all convinced- he looked back at the window across from them.

He waited longer than he needed to. "Are you ready?" he asked, throwing her another glance.

"Always," she said. Which wasn't true, but sounded infinitely better than 'almost never'.

Haytham stepped back before lurching forwards, leaping from the roof's edge and latching effortlessly onto the adjacent windowsill. Keeping his head low, he manoeuvred sideways, leaving room for the Assassin to join him. As she peered over the gap between the two buildings, she wasn't too thrilled by his optimism.

The jump was wider than she'd have liked, but she could make it. She could. She definitely could.

Just about. Probably.

With a deep breath, she jumped- heart in her throat for a fleeting second before she caught the required ledge. She suppressed a grin as she hung below it, though the need was short-lived as her arms began to ache.

Beside her, Haytham had raised himself slightly to evaluate the window and whatever was going on inside. There would be guards. Even if the window was unlocked, he would have to wait for the right moment: a flaw in the pattern. Valuable seconds where the guards' backs would be turned. Enough seconds that they could both enter without making themselves vulnerable.

Kira's fingers were starting to pale. "Please, take your time," she hissed sarcastically.

Haytham's jaw clenched, but his concentration held. Half a minute passed. "Now," he said.

He moved faster than she was prepared for. A blink of an eye and the window was open- he was pulling himself hastily over the sill. Instinct kicked in and she was over it too, feet falling near-silent on the floor of the other side. They were both noticed at once.

There were four guards, which meant they had the upper hand.

There was a cry of alarm, which meant they were quickly losing it.

Haytham lunged forwards, sword unsheathing, utilising what remained of the shock of their ambush. A guard drew a dagger, meeting him in a clash of steel as the Templar parried his defensive blow, plunging his hidden blade deep into his opponent's chest. Withdrawn with an even sharper tug, the blade retracted as quickly as it had struck. Blood splattered across the wooden floor.

Kira winced, though there was no time to. She ducked as a knife skirted past her head, her hand shooting out to grasp her attacker's arm. She twisted it, a howl sounding in her ears as the knife dropped, and she caught it, thrusting it into the guard's throat a moment later. He fell, his weapon soon clattering to the ground beside him.

One guard was left- the absent guard presumably out for reinforcements. Haytham was bearing down on him, launching strike after strike, though each was deflected with waning strength. Kira was witnessing a losing battle, but they were short on time. Her eyes darted about her surroundings, landing on a wooden chair that stood vaguely between her and the sparring men. In a move she had kicked it over, the back of it falling into the guard's retreating path.

He stumbled, which was all the opportunity Haytham needed; a few, strategic swipes of his sword saw the guard crumpling at his feet. The Templar's gaze settled on Kira thoughtfully, caught between wanting to thank or admonish her: grateful for the intervention, resentful she had ever deemed it necessary.

Caring for neither, she shrugged, gesturing to where footfall sounded from below. She drew her twin daggers, moving to crouch one side of the stairs as Haytham did the same: out of sight, ready. He shot her a knowing look as a raised voice drew closer. She nodded back.

A man appeared and was toppled in an instant- Haytham springing from cover to push him violently towards her. She caught the guard as he staggered, planting a dagger in his chest as she guided his fall, depositing him limp to the floor with a nauseating thud.

It was the prelude to an onslaught: the first spots of rain in an overdue downpour.

A long minute later and Kira was grappling with the last of it.

She grunted as she was thrust back against a table, her hand fumbling for balance and closing desperately around a glass instead. She shattered it against the head of her assailant, gasping for air as his hands left her throat- twisting from reach as he flailed with blind rage- though he was quickly regaining his senses.

She stepped away from the table, disorientated, only to be met by a vicious punch. She gasped as she struck the floor, vision swimming as she stared downwards, her hair falling damp and dishevelled around her face.

Across the room, Haytham had stood from his last kill.

Kira raised herself onto trembling arms, spitting blood on the wood beneath her. Her gaze hardened.

A hand closed around her ankle, dragging her backwards, and she spun to face her attacker, buckling his knee with a well-placed kick. Reaching forwards, she grasped his leg, bending it further with a groan of effort and sending him crashing to the floor beside her.

There was an unavoidable tangle of limbs- curses, kicks, misplaced punches- until finally she outmanoeuvred him. She rolled to straddle him; his fist flew for her face and she caught it with a snarl, pinning it by his head.

Her spare hand drove her hidden blade into his neck.

He went still.

Kira sat back on her haunches, still catching her breath as her eyes moved to Haytham. She carded a hand through her hair- wiped the blood from her lips with a deft sweep of her pale fingers. "You think that's the last of them?"

He swallowed thickly- was slow to answer. "Yes… I would say so."

Standing with a nod, the Assassin stepped past him, stooping to collect a fallen dagger as she stalked towards the stairs. "Come," she spoke over her shoulder, examining the blade. She flicked blood from it with a sharp movement. "Let us see how Shay has fared."

…

Shay had fared as remarkably well as he usually did, and the trio had long since fled the scene.

They made their way down an empty street, almost certainly bound for The Green Dragon, though Kira didn't care to make sure. She had fallen tactfully back from her makeshift companions, their conversation muffled in her ears as she glanced about warily, eyeing windows and shadows alike.

They were a fair distance from the house they had attacked; no-one was coming after them. No-one was around, either.

Her gaze moved to the satchel that swung at Shay's hip. Now was as good a time as any.

"Stop, now," she ordered, drawing her pistol and levelling it at his head.

The two men paused ahead of her, turning with no great quantity of concern. There was surprise as they each spotted the gun.

"Not a single move," Kira continued, "from either of you-" directed at Haytham specifically. Mercifully out of her firing line, he was the most likely to try something. That- and he had a habit of being just plain difficult. "The artefact, Shay- give it to me."

Shay didn't move.

"Or what?" Haytham stepped forwards. Defiant. Predictable."You'll kill him?"

"Yes."

"Please." The Templar wasn't convinced. "You haven't an ounce of credibility. You've made it plain you care for the man. You expect me to believe you are prepared to end him- for this, and this alone?"

She didn't expect him to; she never had. She looked towards Shay, who by contrast stared back, eyes conflicted with feeling. On any other day, there would be no hint of doubt. She did care for him- she could never hurt him. Today was different: she'd learnt the truth of his 'betrayal.'

Her conscience protested as she capitalised on the fact, but she wouldn't let it break her conviction. "I thought Shay dead for eighteen years, Mr Kenway," she spoke coldly. Her grip on the gun tightened. "I managed."

Haytham's head tilted- ever so slightly- in contemplation. He sensed the animosity- realised he'd missed something. He was apparently in the dark, and he was far from familiar with working in it. "Give it to her, Shay." He erred on the side of caution.

With a reluctant step forwards, Shay shrugged off the satchel and offered it to the woman. Her demeanour changed the moment she snatched it. She holstered her gun and relaxed: the ice of her eyes melting. "You were bluffing," Haytham observed with begrudging respect, and there were several possible retorts: of course I was bluffing. God, that was easy. You didn't think you were the only good liar here, did you?

She made none of them, and for the simple reason that she had never heard his comment. She was distracted. She was weighing the satchel in her hand, and it was light. It was wrong.

Confused and already frustrated, her hand dove into the bag. She rummaged through the contents, her fingers failing to fall upon the smooth crystal of the artefact, but settling on something far smaller instead. She pulled it out: it caught the moon's pale light as it spun slowly beneath her fingers.

It was an amulet, identical to that which Haytham wore about his neck.

"What is this?" she asked, voice tensed as though it could break. Neither man met her gaze as she glanced between them. "What is this?" she tried again, louder. "Where is the artefact?"

Haytham looked up at the latter question. "The artefact is safe, I assure you." He hesitated before nodding to the amulet. "That? That is something else."

"Clearly," she scoffed. "Are you trying to tell me that everything we did tonight was for this? Only this?" She waved the object about in the air.

"I am afraid so."

"You lied to me!"

"We both lied!" Haytham snapped, impatient. "Or are you forgetting that you came here with every intention of stabbing us in the back?"

"That is different," she dismissed.

"How?"

"Because you forced me to take the artefact!"

They had been closing the gap to each other since their argument began, and she was near enough now to seize a fistful of his coat. "I was making things right," she snarled, using her hold on him to drag him closer. His face was inches from hers. "Don't you dare play the victim."

He glared back, silent, his eyes dark with intent.

Shay was between them before anything was acted upon. "Enough," he exclaimed, pulling Kira away gently. "We should never have lied to you Kira, but-"

"'We?'" she laughed, hollow. "I am to believe this was a collaborative effort, am I? No," she answered before he could, "you were following his orders, Shay. There is nothing else to it."

And nothing else was said in protest. Shay scratched the back of his head gingerly, unable to refute her claim. Her quarrel was with Haytham alone.

"Look," the Grand Master reasoned with a shrug, "we needed your help. If anything, you should view it as a-"

Kira punched him before he could finish the sentence.

She should have been terrified to, but she wasn't. As Haytham recovered- gaze burning into her with such intensity that she could almost feel the prickle of it- remorse was the furthest thing from her mind.

"Shay?" Haytham spoke.

The younger Templar had been stunned into silence himself. "Yes, sir?"

"Leave."

"I don't think-"

"Go, now. I won't ask again."

Haytham's tone was unforgiving, but Shay looked to Kira, regardless. His loyalties were conflicted, and the woman resolved them with a confident nod. No fear, no regard for personal safety: she was fairly certain she'd lost the ability to feel either.

Shay tore himself away, leaving the Assassin and Templar to settle their dispute.

"How dare you," Haytham hissed in his wake, receiving a look of utter apathy in return. "How dare you be so disrespectful as to-"

"Disrespectful?" Kira spat, still somehow surprised by the man's vanity. "I'll show you disrespectful!"

She lunged at him, content that the action would probably be her last. His eyes widened, but he side-stepped her attack: making no move to counter, and the nonchalance was insulting. He'd fight her. She'd make him fight her. With a click, her hidden blade engaged.

"Don't," Haytham warned on a low breath, eyeing it.

She did, though, because she wanted to.

Another lunge, and the air cracked as his blade connected with hers. He was suddenly fighting back with more than just the need to defend himself. Whilst his weapon unerringly parried hers, he did not strike with it- throwing punches instead, and she evaded those she could. When one inevitably landed, it was enough to see her stumbling to the ground.

There was a feeling of repetition as she lay there. She raised herself onto trembling arms, spitting blood on the cobbles beneath her.

This was becoming too much of a habit.

Haytham was on her a moment later, rolling her over, trying to catch her hands as his weight pinned her down. He soon found the grasp he needed- trapped her writhing wrists against the floor- and a soft rasp to his breath was the only indication it had been a struggle. Kira stilled as she glared up at him. Thought about all the times he'd won- the way he always made it seem so easy.

This time wasn't going to be easy. If he was going to win she would at least make it hurt.

She twisted a hand free and promptly struck him with it, buying herself a few seconds. By the end of them, she had rolled on top of him and restrained him as well as her strength would allow. It was temporary, but it was something. Haytham's eyes narrowed as he looked up at her, blood staining the skin above his upper lip. That was a start.

They wrestled for a short while, neither willing to cede the advantage: both confident in their ability to take it. What began as a battle of mental endurance soon evolved into one of its physical counterpart. Body aching- already taxed by the toll of the night's events- it was not a conflict Kira could survive.

Realising this as the Templar bore down on her yet another time, she pushed him away with a frantic kick. She clambered unsteadily to her knees, finding a hand at her throat before she could even summon the strength to stand.

The pair's fight had seen them arrive in a secluded alley, and Kira was dragged to her feet, gasping as her back struck brick wall. "What in God's name is wrong with you?" Haytham demanded.

He had lifted her to her toes, and her eyes watered as his hands closed firmly around her wrists. "You lied to me!" she spat.

His grip tightened. "No. There is more to it- tell me."

Feet still scrabbling for purchase, Kira was becoming desperate. She kicked out as she struggled, catching the man's shin. He drew a sharp breath, baring his teeth: losing his patience. "Tell me!" he growled.

"I killed people!"

"So what?" he dismissed. "You are an Assassin, you are supposed to kill people."

"For what is right!" she cried, practically hysterical. Words were the only thing left to lash out with. "Not so a Templar can go around chasing foolish myths and legends."

"Watch your tongue."

"Or you'll kill me?" She wouldn't look up at him- kept uselessly fighting him. "Do it! That is your answer to everything, isn't it? Death, and more death, and however much death is required to carve out that perfect little world of yours. Well you know what? I'm sick of it."

She stopped, and her eyes went cold as they at last met his. "I'm sick of you."

The words were confessed breathlessly, smooth as a knife's edge and just as determined to taste blood. Haytham stared back at her, surely wanting to reciprocate the sentiment. Surely nursing an answer- a retaliation- and she waited for it; she waited to be cut back.

He said nothing, and she watched as the blood from his nose ran softly along the slight parting of his lips.

"Let me down," she said.

He did, reluctantly: taking a step back as he released her. Throwing him a look of resentment, the woman wandered back onto the street, collecting the discarded satchel with a sigh. "Keep your amulet," she spoke, voice low as she returned to him. "What's done is done, and I want nothing more to do with it." She thrust the bag into his hands. "I want nothing more to do with you."

Haytham frowned, and a furtive glance into the satchel revealed the amulet was still inside. No charade. No games. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I don't want to see you again," Kira reiterated before he could. "Stay away from me, understand? Do not be deceived into thinking you will be able to threaten or manipulate me. You come anywhere near me?" She stepped closer: a final stand. "I will kill you."

He blinked back at her, silent.

It had been a night of deceit, but it would end with truth. The Assassin was tired of pretending. Tired of lies- tired of being lied to. As she turned and walked away- the taste of her threat still bitter on her tongue- she wondered if the Templar ever felt the same.

Then again, truth was an awfully fickle concept.

Author notes:

So, as promised, I managed to get this chapter out much earlier than usual. I've decided that, like this chapter, I'm going to try to make all new chapters longer than what they used to be.

As for what's next: I've got about three weeks of free time, meaning I should post at least one other longer chapter within that time. After that, I'll be on holiday for a while, meaning I won't be posting any chapters, but as I said, I'm hoping to get the next chapter out sooner rather than later, so that'll hopefully make up for my absence.

I hope you're enjoying the story so far- I know I'm having fun writing it. :D

Kittycat312