Chapter 22: The Last Straw

She had to play this carefully.

Kira steadied her breath, eyes trained unwaveringly on the man who now circled her, anticipating his next attack. How had she let it come to this? His sword glinted tauntingly at her in the early morning light, its range her disadvantage as both her daggers lay discarded and useless nearby, having been twisted from her grasp a few moves ago. She could still recall the foreboding thud of them striking the battered earth, the sound a gloating testament to the mistakes she had made. A silver lining had been that they had fallen close enough for her to retrieve them. At least, until he had kicked them away.

He lunged, interrupting her train of thought, though not before she had a moment to assess his intentions. With a subtle click, she had engaged her hidden blade, and she swung her arm out in defence, meeting his attack with a sickening yet relieving clash of metal. One, two, three- he maintained his offence, striking mercilessly at different angles. She parried each blow, searching for an opportune moment to counter, waiting, even praying, for a break in his pattern. She hated this: relying on an opponent's weakness. With the upper hand, there was nothing to force him to make a mistake.

At least, not yet.

She dodged a particularly heavy attack, utilising the split-second he was off-balance to place a well-aimed kick to his stomach, sending him a few stumbling steps backwards. It was a short-lived victory. She knew it. He definitely knew it. There was a glint in his eye as he recovered, levelling his sword with her, dissuading any move she might make as he reassessed his position. This was a game that he would win. It was mapped out before them, and they could both see it. The twists and turns of its winding course, its inevitable conclusion, and whom it favoured. All of the pieces were set.

As Kira felt a warmth trickle from her nose to her upper lip, she met her opponent's confident gaze with one of her own. She moved a hand to wipe her mouth, breaking the exchange as she took in the sight of crimson streaked across her hand, but maintaining it a moment later. She smirked, the salty taste of her own blood doing nothing to diminish her satisfaction.

"You fight like your father."

The air was still. For about a second. Connor was on her in record time, though for the first time in the fight, entirely without thought. There was a fury to his actions that astonishingly caught her by surprise. In a flash he had dived for her, caught off-guard as she spun out of his path, catching his arm and twisting it, using his own still-shifting weight against him. She grasped the handle of his weapon as it was forced from his hand.

One move later and the young man turned to find the point of the sword pressed dangerously close to the column of his throat. The air stilled once more.

"You cheated." His eyes narrowed, though his body untensed a little, begrudgingly conceding defeat.

"You are too easily manipulated," Kira smiled, dropping the sword and already moving to pick up her daggers. She spoke over her shoulder as she bent to reach one. "Do not blame me for your shortcomings. You think a true opponent will be honourable in a fight?"

"It is cheating nonetheless," her companion grumbled, retrieving his own weapon and sheathing it.

Kira laughed softly, returning to him and patting his arm as she passed. "You make use of your strength, and I shall make use of my guile. We work with what we are given, my friend."

Connor had stooped to fetch a rag from a nearby water bucket, and he tossed it to her now. "Guile? You mean your complete lack of moral integrity?"

Catching it, she offered a grateful nod as she raised the cloth to her face, staunching the blood that still stemmed from her nose. "Exactly." The word was somewhat muffled by the fabric.

A few minutes passed whilst they saw to their minor injuries in silence. It had been a week since their ordeal with the redcoats, and it had been spent mainly recuperating. Kira thought about Achilles, who had been surprisingly absent recently, as she tilted her head back, waiting for her nose to stop bleeding. Sure enough, her mentor was to be found around the manor, preparing studies for Connor and the two apprentices, organising the missions of recruits and allies. But he had spoken hardly a word to Kira since she had briefed him- almost completely honestly, for once- on the incident that had occurred. She had expected a barrage of questions and accusations on his part, but there had been none. He had fallen strangely quiet, and told her he was glad both she and Connor were safe. That was all.

"Do I fight like my father?" Connor's question broke her thoughts, so quiet she had hardly picked up on it. He had been distracted as he rearranged the bandages across his stomach, but was now looking to her, intently.

Her heart dropped, and she began to contemplate the question. Did Connor fight like Haytham? She cast her mind back, losing herself to memories. She reflected on a brutal collection of images: her being thrown against walls, sent sprawling across various floors, and finding herself at the receiving end of some rather nasty punches. It wasn't exactly a very inspiring narrative. Still, how many of those fights did Connor actually know about? The time after she had helped Haytham steal the amulet? No. The time she rescued Gabriel? No, she had claimed Haytham wasn't there. What about when she had met the Templar Grand Master for the first time? She sighed. Connor knew the truth of that, and regrettably, it had hardly been a fight.

This was getting too complicated. The woman decided to err on the side of caution.

"I cannot really say," she mused, "I have not had enough experience of it to make a judgement."

Connor said nothing, seemingly seeing nothing suspect in her answer. Still, he looked pensively sad, and she strove to reassure him.

"Connor," she declared, earnestly, "you are nothing like your father. At least, from what I can tell."

He offered a weak smile, which implied her efforts were very much in vain, and Kira attacked the awkward silence in the only way she knew how: she kept talking. "Forget Haytham- what of your grandfather? Now there is a connection worth exploring. What has Achilles taught you of him?"

"Little." Connor's tone was still gloomy, but he had perked up somewhat. "Only that he was an Assassin."

"That is all?" That was strange. "He was a Master Assassin, even leader of the British Brotherhood for some time, though he originally joined and fought with the Brotherhood of the West Indies. You see, he…" She trailed off with a smile. "No, I shall not spoil it for you. I have a book from England, it holds records of the lives of all the influential figures of the Brotherhood there, your grandfather included. I'll fetch it for you, you can-"

She had turned in pursuit of the aforementioned volume, though had ground to a halt at the sight of her mentor, stood a few strides away, leaning patiently on his walking stick. She tried to make a quick assessment of his mood, though this was as fruitless as always.

"Achilles," she greeted, calmly, resisting the urge to be concerned.

"Kira," he nodded curtly. "I must talk with you. Alone."

Now that was a slight cause for concern. "But I was just-"

"Now."

Kira sighed, her mind already drastically overthinking- she was sure- whatever was in store for her. She turned back to Connor as she made to leave, whispering conspiratorially. "The left side of my writing desk, two drawers down, green-leather bound, you cannot miss it."

"I will find it, thank you." The man seemed somewhat amused.

With a mutual wave of farewell, the two parted ways, though one far more optimistically than the other.

…

"Would you please stop that?"

Kira frowned, pausing mid-task at the sound of her mentor's gruff words. She had been rummaging through the various letters that lay sprawled around where she sat on his desk, looking for one in particular. Her hand had just fallen to the document in question, and she raised it now to emphasise its significance.

"My contacts in Nassau have finally come through. I had hoped they would be able to-"

"Another time, Kira."

There was something to his tone she didn't like. He had never had much patience for her sense of humour- that dated far back to when she and Shay sought out all kinds of mischief- but something to his shortness now was different. She straightened, folding the letter into her pocket, and watching as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Is something wrong?"

The man leaned backwards, hands falling restlessly in his lap. He seemed to wrestle with something within himself for a moment, before meeting her gaze with a regretful sigh. "Kira," he began, "there is no denying that the last few months have been unusual, and I am content to share culpability on that matter. Still, concerns have arisen that I can no longer ignore, though sentiment pleads me to."

The younger Assassin stilled, the optimism she had been so desperately clinging to draining out of her with each second, like blood from a wound. It would prove a mere papercut to Achilles' next words: the open gash of a freshly-cut throat.

"I have decided that Connor will succeed me as Mentor of this brotherhood."

Kira couldn't ever recall words having been able to knock the breath from her lungs, but they did now. Where her hands had sat idly beside her, they now gripped urgently to the edge of the desk, knuckles paling at the same rate as her face, as she tried to ground herself to reality. This couldn't happen. Not after all this time.

Achilles continued. "Whilst I am in no doubt of your loyalty, Kira, your actions of late have been a great cause for concern. The leader of this brotherhood must be someone I can trust will-"

"I have been training for this for as long as I can remember," the woman finally spoke, the buffer of initial shock wearing dangerously thin. She could feel it giving way- cascading beneath a tide of anger- and made a conscious decision to let it fall. "Years. Devoted to avidly studying, to managing the logistics of all our operations- our very way of life. You would now hand it all to someone who boasts not a shred of that experience? You cannot be serious."

She had slunk from the desk to her feet, and now loomed over the surface in confrontation, hands still gripping the edge of it, no longer for comfort, but in an attempt to restrain herself.

Achilles leant towards her, undaunted. "You cannot lead this brotherhood. Too often you allow your emotions to get the better of you. First, you allow your feelings for Shay to interfere with your work, and now you-"

"Too emotional?" she snapped. "Connor is driven by hatred, he seeks revenge for what the Templars did to his people. Is this what the Assassins have become, some instrument through which people exact personal retributions?"

There was an exasperation now. "We both know that is not true. Connor seeks to protect his people, and whatever contempt he does harbour for the Templars, he does with my blessing. Might I remind you that this is our purpose? We are at war, and it is a war we have raged for generations- a fact you seem to have largely forgotten, nowadays."

"That is ridiculous, if anything, I-"

"First it was Shay," the man interrupted, uninterested in hearing her excuses, "which I was willing to forgive. But now you are receiving aid from the Grand Master himself? It is unheard of, and you must think me a fool if I am not suspicious of his motives."

Kira took a breath, realising her mentor was dancing dangerously close to the truth. It was practically an accusation, and one she knew was completely justified. She made a visible effort to calm herself, knowing an emotional outburst here might as well be a confession. "I realise that it was unconventional, I do. But how often do people with familial bonds find themselves on opposing sides of this war? Try as he might to escape the shadow of it, Connor is Haytham's son. That alone is unusual, it was inevitable it would create circumstances we were unprepared for."

Achilles received the explanation collectedly, eyes closing as he reflected on the validity of it. "Your words have some merit, I confess. I trust, then, you can explain equally why Connor tells me you were speaking with Haytham in the wake of the incident. Tell me, what did the two of you discuss?"

The drawl of derision beneath the question made the woman's skin crawl. Irritated, she turned her attention away from her mentor and began to rifle through paperwork once more. "Oh, you know, details of our operations, a rather thorough assessment of our greatest weaknesses. Nothing of consequence."

"I am glad this is all so greatly amusing to you."

"Well for heaven's sake, Achilles," she snapped, "what did you expect? Am I supposed to be thrilled you seem to have lost all faith in me, that all my work has been for nought?"

"I had hoped you would take the news with at least an attempt at dignity. Connor understands the needs of this brotherhood in ways you could not possibly aspire to. He is willing to do whatever it takes to uphold our values, uphold-"

"Your values," she interrupted, though not with anger, but a sudden clarity. She had straightened and stilled, refusing to meet his gaze as all the pieces came together in her mind.

"I'm sorry?"

"He will do whatever it takes to uphold your values. What you believe in." She was lost briefly to a memory. The crackle of a fireplace. The hammering of rain against a window. He had been right. She met her mentor's gaze now, the fire in her eyes no longer the glow of irrational emotion, but instead a fierce and unadulterated understanding. "I should have known this would happen. You care not for what my beliefs are, only that they are not identical to your own."

"That is not true, I-"

She laughed, the sound rather unsettling within the tension of the room. "All this talk of liberty, of protecting people's right to think for themselves, and you would punish me for doing things differently. You are so blinded by tradition, by this incessant need to restore things to what they were, that you neglect to see why those ways failed us in the first place. How they have always failed us. You would force your own bitterness upon Connor so that he might avenge age-old ills, when this has never been the purpose of our creed. Our duty is to protect people, how can we achieve that when-"

"Enough!" The impassioned speech was cut short by the sound of a chair screeching backwards as Achilles raised himself to his full height. "I will not hear another word of this insolence."

The room fell submissively silent. Kira revelled quietly in her mentor's outburst, taking it as a sign she had struck a vein of truth. It felt alarmingly good- having him reciprocate her pain. Still, the reality of her situation struck her again now, and she was overwhelmed by a feeling of daunting emptiness. The small victory, and the truth on which she had stumbled, both felt remarkably hollow all of a sudden.

She made to leave, all at once desperate to be away, wanting to be anywhere but this awful room with its awful silence. She dreaded to think what she would do if she stayed a moment more.

"Where are you going?" The voice came from behind her, an implied statement to it: we aren't finished.

"Home," she spat, not bothering to turn.

She was out of the door before he could protest, slamming it shut in a statement of her own.

…

This was a terrible idea.

Kira had gone home, at first, and tried to keep herself busy for a few hours. The afternoon had quickly descended into evening, masked by the cover of a few chores, and then her beloved books, through which she retreated into a much-needed escape. When the first, second, and then third choice all failed to keep her attention for any substantial time, she had fatefully turned to a more reliable distraction, which retrospectively, may have been where her quality of judgement began to slide. She had reached her third- or was it fourth?- drink when she had decided that she was hopelessly and intolerably alone. The epiphany had, through some course of events and decisions that she couldn't wholly remember, led her here.

Haytham Kenway's house, at what must have been approaching midnight.

It really had no business being as grand as it was, she thought to herself, as she was led through expansive rooms by a particularly unenthusiastic housekeeper. It was tauntingly grand, a far-stretch from her cosy little home, and the decrepit, ever-ageing splendour of Davenport Manor. Then again, they didn't have a housekeeper to rely on there. Regarding the sullen figure now, she decided they were not missing much.

Anyway, what had she been thinking? Ah yes. This was a terrible idea.

She had come to stand before a door, and upon turning, realised the housekeeper had slunk wordlessly out of sight. With a sigh, she offered a meek knock against the looming surface, content that any opportunity to turn back had long since slipped away in a similar manner.

When she finally entered the room, she was struck by its warmth almost immediately. It was more inviting than she had imagined- a study, furnished ornately yet simply, and framed by lines and lines of bookshelves. She began a mental assessment of the volumes she could make out, those she had read and those she hadn't, finding herself surprised by the quantity of the latter.

"Miss Lawrence."

The words of greeting startled her a little, and she regarded her host for the first time since she had entered. He was sat at his desk, clearly in the midst of some paperwork, with documents and odd books scattered about him.

"Mr Kenway," she nodded curtly, approaching him. "Thank you for agreeing to see me. I am sure it must seem… unusual."

Haytham leant back in his chair, distancing himself from his work. "Certainly. Though I am admittedly intrigued, I confess this is the last place I ever expected to see you."

Kira smiled, conscious of the same irony as she looked about the room. "It is the last place I ever expected to be. You know…" she trailed off, breaking her inspection to regard him once more, "if I had known it was so poorly guarded, I would have broken in here and cut your throat a long time ago. Would have saved me a lot of trouble."

He raised an eyebrow, an amused smile crossing his lips as he watched her chuckle at her own joke. "Indubitably," he said, though continued as she did not attempt to further an explanation: "Is there something I can assist you with, or are you simply here to dazzle me with your delightful company?"

She rewarded his wryness with a feigned expression of offence, though sobered a little as she reflected on the question. The answer was one she was still very much in the middle of determining. She took a breath. "Do you remember," she began, "on that morning I reunited with Shay, you told me that more than anyone else in the world, you understood me- my situation?"

He could recall it very well. "Yes?"

"I think that is still true."

She fell contemplatively quiet, looking down at her hands, and appreciating that speaking the words had taken more of a toll than thinking them ever had. It felt crushingly real, all of a sudden.

"It sounds pitiful, I know," she continued, trying to ignore the dryness creeping through her throat, "but I… I wanted to talk to someone who does. Understand me, I mean."

Quite certain she had made an adequate fool of herself, Kira struggled to look at the man across from her, uncertain of whether she desired- or was even prepared for- whatever his reaction might be. It had been an amusing concept, that she would spill her heart out to the Templar, in an act that would appal Achilles should he ever find out. The reality now had her stumbling on a truth, and one that left her feeling terribly vulnerable: perhaps the only person who could truly understand her was one who couldn't care less.

When she finally looked up, she found the eyes that met hers were glazed with an unconcealed concern.

"What happened?" Haytham said, simply, his voice grave.

And, taken quite by surprise, she told him.

…

"I should have predicted this. It is… troubling, to say the least."

Haytham reclined, brow furrowing in thought as he reflected on everything the Assassin had related. She had settled at the conclusion of her story, having divulged almost word-for-word her exact exchange with Achilles, in a more honest recollection than she had ever offered her mentor. Haytham had seemed pleased as she had recalled the speech she'd made, practically echoing his past sentiments, but had retreated since into a rather unhappy-looking pensiveness. His words now offered a brief insight into his mind, though not one she appreciated.

"Troubling? For you?" she frowned. "Oh, well you have my deepest sympathies."

He looked up, fingers pressed rigidly against his temple, and regarded the woman coolly, too deep in thought to pay her cutting tone much heed. "Forgive me," he began, misleading her for a moment into believing he would be sincere, "for not being overjoyed that my future adversary is now- as opposed to the Assassin that would hold a civil conversation with me- one that is out for my blood." He sighed. "It is a crushing blow to you, certainly, but it bodes no better for me."

Kira considered the response. "I suppose that is true."

She had adopted her own thoughtful position on her chair, elbow resting on the crest of a folded leg, and chin settled on the correlating palm. She tapped a finger irritably against her cheek, before straightening and rubbing both hands across the top of her thighs anxiously, unable to be still.

"Anyway," Haytham continued, noting her agitation, "you made some excellent points." He briefly enjoyed the fabricated image of her lecturing her mentor. "I do wish I could have been there. Just to have seen his face."

Kira tilted her head a little, ignoring the compliment, if that had indeed been what it was. "Why is it that you and Achilles seem to despise each other so? I know your positions make you natural enemies, but it seems much more…"

"Personal?"

She said nothing in affirmation, merely waited for him to elaborate.

"It is, I suppose." He offered a wistful half-smile. "I shot him, a long time ago, and he… well, exists."

"How very dare he."

The smile stretched marginally. "Exactly, the grounds for resentment are mutual."

Kira leaned forward slightly, in question, and as ever, unsatisfied. The man before her had fallen silent, but she waited for a more sincere explanation.

It took him a moment to realise what she wanted, and he sighed defeatedly as he did. "In all honesty, I have little respect for the man. He is a poor leader. First, he would drive away Shay with his unwillingness to listen, to learn from his mistakes, and now, he takes for granted…"

He paused suddenly, as though his explanation had wandered somewhere he hadn't expected it to go.

"… me?" Kira finished, tentatively.

"No," Haytham answered, a little too quickly, then struggled to think of any other point he could have been making. "Well, yes."

Satisfied somewhat, the woman leant back in her chair, watching as Haytham moved his attention back to his paperwork, as though unwilling to discuss the matter any further. For the first time since she'd entered the room, she really considered the man across from her, from the visible tension across his shoulders to the dark hue beneath his eyes. He looked tired, and she felt a twinge of guilt at having not been more mindful of the fact. She was usually good at reading people. She still was, she just hadn't bothered to until now.

Raising herself from the chair, she moved around the desk to stand behind the Templar, so that she could inspect the array of papers. "What are you working on?"

He didn't look up. "Accounts."

She made a disgusted sound from the back of her throat, and he smiled as he began to leaf through one of the many ledgers before him. Kira watched quietly, eyes scanning over what lines of records and figures she could see, and making a mental note to see to the Assassins' accounts when she returned to the manor. Achilles had placed her in charge of them for as long as she could remember, and though tedious, the menial task had always granted her some feeling of responsibility. Authority, even. The feeling was tainted now.

"This," she said, leaning over suddenly and placing a finger to the figure at the end of a column, "is missing…" her finger trailed lightly to a different number, "this."

Haytham had tensed as she leaned in, and he forced his mind to concentrate on the incorrect sum. She was right, though recalculating the new total proved more of a challenge than normal. When he scrawled the number down, it was with a silent breath of relief. "Much obliged," he managed.

"You're welcome." Kira withdrew, regarding the fields of correct figures with a sense of satisfaction.

He relaxed, surveying his work with a similar feeling, and conscious of the fact she was doing the same. "I don't suppose you'd care to assist me with the rest of this?" he joked.

She shrugged, after considering the idea for all of a second. "Why not?"

Before he could entirely believe she was being sincere, she had returned to her own side of the desk, and pulled her chair decisively close to it as she settled once more. She began to clear some space, smiling curtly as she accepted a stack of papers that the Templar wordlessly offered, the man unsure of what exactly he was witnessing. He watched as she reached for a spare pen, dipping it carefully in a nearby pot of ink, before starting to scrutinise the documents.

"Have you…" he tried to phrase the question as delicately as possible, "been drinking?"

She met his gaze for the first time in a while, hands stilling before her, as though more irritated at being interrupted than by the question itself. "Would you have been, in my position?"

He thought about it. "Probably."

"Then you have your answer."

They exchanged a smile, one curt, and the other rich with enthralled disbelief. When Haytham had assessed the potential ways he might exploit an acquaintance with the Assassin, this had hardly been within the realms of his imagination. He marvelled at the eccentricity of it- of her- as he watched her set about his paperwork with an arbitrary determination. Such unbridled cooperation would be short-lived- of that he was sure- but as he turned back to the mass of work before him, he was determined to savour it.

…

Kira straightened for the first time in almost an hour, mouth extending into a quiet yawn. She tentatively rolled her head left and then right a little, testing the muscles in her neck, whilst her eyes still studied the ledger in front of her. She'd reached the end of a page, and now reviewed her progress as she brought her hands together and pushed them forwards in another delicate stretch. She winced and wriggled the fingers of her left hand, which felt dangerously close to cramping.

"You know," she said softly, fighting another yawn, "I am surprised you have let me see any of this."

Haytham had stirred from his own work-induced haze at the start of her small performance, but the words now inspired a more concrete focus. "Hmm?" he enquired, too much in the process of reviving himself to really assess the statement.

She tapped a hand lazily to the ledger in answer. "I could use this information."

"You could," he agreed, reaching to pour himself a fresh cup of tea from a pot they had called for earlier. "Just as I-" the pot now hovered over the woman's cup in a silent question, "could tell Achilles of all your recent transgressions. And where would that leave you?"

Kira had nodded in consent at her cup, and watched now as it filled steadily, the liquid tinkling against the empty china. Haytham had insisted on tea, despite her half-hearted appeals for something stronger, and she had silently lamented that she had found the one man in Boston who wouldn't ply her with more drink. Now, as she closed her hands around the warming receptacle, she supposed there was an honour to the gesture she should probably be more grateful for.

"Are you threatening me, Mr Kenway?" she asked casually, meeting his gaze as she sipped at the fresh tea.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, with a tone that suggested he very much would. "I am simply stating a fact."

"And that is…?"

"That I could ruin you."

He smiled tauntingly, and she struggled to gauge just how much of a genuine threat lay behind the words. He took a little too much pleasure in the declaration, and there was a danger there, certainly. She tried to convince herself it should frighten her. It didn't.

Surprising herself with her own confidence, Kira offered a wry smile of her own. She thought back to the previous week- to the conversation she had overheard in The Green Dragon, and to the concerns of Haytham's allies. Two could play at this game. Besides, he had started it.

"I wonder," her tone was playful as she began to leaf theatrically through the ledger before her, "what your men would say, should they find out about your sharing with me such important- and dare I say, invaluable- information."

Though he by no means appeared worried, Haytham's earlier smile had faded, to her utter delight.

"But what am I saying?" she continued, as though chastising herself. "You are Haytham Kenway, after all, and I cannot imagine you have any reason to doubt the loyalty of your subordinates. Indeed, I am certain they would never question any decision you make, nor dare challenge your authority..." She paused for dramatic effect. "Am I correct?"

Haytham's more subtle tells had evolved into an expression of clear discontent, and he frowned as he assessed the words, their consequences, and the rather gleeful-looking woman who had issued them. Her tone alone asserted that this was not some shot in the dark, but rather, a calculated strike, made powerful by knowledge alone. Just where this knowledge had been obtained, he didn't know. He had been careful, when would she have had the opportunity to-

Ah, wait. Yes. So, she'd overheard that conversation. Wonderful.

This was a threat, then, and one which bore considerable weight. He could count on one hand the number of people who had threatened him and lived to see it through, so why was this different? The answer dawned on him as he took in the sight of her: the slight quirk of her lips, the way she had leant towards him, marginally, in anticipation. This wasn't a threat. She was toying with him, and by the looks of it, enjoying it thoroughly. That could be tolerated, he supposed.

He relaxed, taking a sip from his drink in order to engender his rival's suspense. "It would appear that we have reached an impasse."

"It would," Kira confirmed, trying to match the man's collectedness. Haytham's reaction had been anticlimactic, certainly, though his confession had ensured she was anything but disappointed. He met her gaze now, unwaveringly, and she found herself in an impromptu battle of patience.

It was a losing battle on an ordinary day, let alone one where she'd had any number of drinks. She broke into a smile almost instantly, before holding out her cup in a proposed toast. "To ruining each-other," she said, without a hint of irony.

Haytham froze in the middle of another sip of tea, mind inadvertently running to all the unintended implications of that statement. His eyes were fixed to where Kira's cup lingered in the space between them, and still very much distracted, he raised his own to meet it with a satisfying clink. "Indeed."

He watched as, satisfied, Kira brought her cup contemplatively to her lips and began to tidy her makeshift workspace. She was making ready to leave, and realising the fact brought him back to the present. "You know," he queried, reclining as much as his chair would allow, "you're rather good company, once you've let your inhibitions slide a little."

She hummed in acknowledgement, pausing and looking up at him. "A fact men have tried to exploit in many ways, but this, I'll admit-" she slid an organised pile of work towards him, "is a first."

"I always have fancied myself a pioneer," he chuckled lightly, retrieving it. He watched as the woman threaded her arms through the sleeves of her coat, then began to work on her fastenings.

Once she had finished, she offered a courteous smile. "I had better leave."

Nodding in agreement, Haytham stood instinctively. "Of course, I'll…" he paused as he reached for his own coat. "I can see you home safely, if you'd like?"

It was hardly an offer Kira could accept- both her pride and profession saw to that- but it was one she found herself inexplicably deliberating. Ordinarily, she would be insulted. If it were any other man, on any other occasion, she would by now likely have him thrust against a wall, arm twisted behind his back, in a show of just how ridiculous the offer was. This was different, though. Other men did not know what she was capable of. Haytham did. She had nothing to prove.

"That is kind of you, but…" she hesitated, dragging out what little time left she had to accept, and finding herself having to force the next words. "No. I will be quite alright, thank you."

If Haytham was disappointed, he made no show of it. "Very well. I'll see you out, at least."

…

Kira had expected a number of things when she had decided to come. To be mocked, certainly. An inevitable argument. A fight, even. She had longed for it, she realised now. An excuse to vent her frustration, and to inflict just a fraction of that frustration on someone else. It was what she had needed. Or so she thought.

She looked at Haytham, whose attention had been momentarily diverted elsewhere. His head was tilted back, eyes studying the expanse of stars that stretched above them, whilst drawing a few leisurely breaths of brisk night air.

"What are you thinking about?" The words left Kira's lips almost involuntarily.

The man smiled, regarding her for a moment before returning his gaze to the sky. "How trivial all this is. All we are."

She scoffed, staring up at the stars as though they were a rival. "Speak for yourself."

They shared an amused look. There had never been a spoken agreement to linger for a while outside of the house, enjoying the change of scenery, but it was one they had reached anyway. It was peaceful at this time of night, when the rest of the city was sleeping.

"Thank you," Kira broke the silence, "for not… well, making me regret this."

"You are very welcome," Haytham murmured, "though do not thank me yet. There is still time."

"To make me regret it?"

He smirked in confirmation, and though she saw no real malice behind it, Kira wondered if that were true. If there were time enough for her to feel that cold grasp of remorse, and if he should even want to put it there. She didn't think there was, or that he did, but she couldn't risk it. The night was lazy with contentment, and one she felt no passion to stir.

She bid him goodnight, before it grew too late. It was all a little too good to be true, and she wasn't ready for the illusion to shatter. Not yet.

Author's Note:

Hi guys! Sorry for the longer wait, was finishing up all my submissions for this semester. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, it's *just about* the longest so far! Am still having so much fun writing this, and hope that if you're reading this, you're having an equally good time! Thanks so much to the few people who have commented- it always makes my day whenever I get an email notification through! It means the world to me to know that there's really anybody still invested in this. Thanks so much for all of your support, and please keep staying safe! Am going to start writing the next chapter ASAP, so stay tuned I guess! :D