At Lucy's hurried pace, the two were a block away from Abstergo before long. She only looked up from her clipboard a few times, impressing Clay with her familiarity of the area. Every mailbox and crack in the pavement was avoided without even needing to see it. And Clay surprised himself, at how well he could keep up with her. It had been too long since he had felt so... alive. Of course, the idiotic irony of it didn't get past him.

After another block and a half or so, Lucy's pace slowed and she lifted her eyes more frequently. A less familiar area, he had to assume. But something about her had shifted. Her shoulders had loosened, and she took on a different demeanor. She stopped flipping the blank pages of her clipboard and held it in one hand at her side. Though she kept her eyes down. She seemed less busy, and more grim.

It was only half a block before Clay found out why. She lifted her blue eyes at last, locking on the building on the corner ahead.

Though he didn't recognize it, he knew what it was. He looked over to Lucy, who kept her face stone and unreadable. She kept her composure when she opened the doors and climbed the stairs, never once so much as missing a step. As always, Clay followed her closely. Every movement was purposeful, though the speed had noteably dropped in her step. A man in a suit opened another door for her, offering quiet condolences. She nodded and thanked him as she passed through, into a room not unlike a church cathedral. A few flowers tried to decorate the room, but seemed more obligatory than anything. And there it was. There he was. A box in the front of the room, too small to fit a child- and yet- it held a man. Clay found the sight more disturbing than anything else. Lucy took a seat in one of the pews, the first to arrive. Clay opted to stand, not wanting to find out what would happen if someone tried to sit through him. A handful of people filed in, taking seats apart from one another. Everyone sat alone.

The organist began playing "Amazing Grace", a classic funeral song. A song Clay hated, of course. But he supposed no one would have known that. No one had asked. A lady that Clay didn't know took her spot on the side, beside his box, and smiled at her audience of three. Four, if you counted the dearly departed. And she picked up the vocal line, smiling between words. Smiling as though she'd never been happier to preform to fewer people than you could count on one hand. Disgusting.

After the song, a man in minister's robes took her place. Clay grimaced. If not for his own name at the front, he could have sworn he was in the wrong place. Didn't anyone know he wasn't religious? Sure, he had been raised Catholic, but he hadn't practiced the religion since leaving home. Meeting Juno had finalized his belief, if a year in Abstergo hadn't been enough. The Minister flipped a page in a binder before reciting;

"The One remains, the many change and pass;
Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly;
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
Until Death tramples it to fragments. Die,
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek.
Follow where all is fled. Rome's azure sky,
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak.
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak."

Clay rolled his eyes. Where had he dragged that horseshit from? It didn't even make sense. Though he supposed he was glad it was in English, at least. Somebody had traded enough words with him to know that much. The minister continued, but Clay had tuned him out and redirected his attention to the audience members.

The room was fairly small, likely meant to only house thirty people or so. Still, it seemed huge with only three seats filled. There was Lucy, of course. Directly behind her was a familiar face, albiet aged since they last talked.

"...Dad?"

The man didn't react, of course. But Clay didn't have to ask to know it was him. He couldn't forget him, if he tried. And, admittedly, he had tried. Almost succeeded, too. But in his own reflection he could see his father's face. It was impossible to completely erase his memory.

Harold Kaczmarek. In the flesh. It had been so long since Clay had seen his face. Sure, phonecalls and e-mails here and there, but they hadn't shared photographs or met up in person in years. Clay caught himself wondering if he had yet recieved that last e-mail.

His attention drifted to the last member. The man sitting in the back of the room, in the corner. Clay would have overlooked him if he hadn't seen him walk in. Though, given his line of work, it came as no surprise. William Miles himself. And though he had an intimidating air about him that demanded respect- he was more comfortable around the Mentor than he was his own father. Not to say Bill had been more of a father to him, just that he had been a better friend. Bill was there when Clay was at his lowest. Bill himself had overseen Clay's first Leap of Faith, and given him a small, but approving, smile when he had landed safely.

Not just metaphorically speaking- the Assassins were all taught basic combat and freerun skills. Though they were mostly a formality and test of loyalty in modern times. Naturally, they couldn't trust their secrets to someone who couldn't defend themselves. Clay had heard from the grapevine that Bill had a son, but Bill never once mentioned him to Clay. He thought back to the name Juno had mentioned. Desmond Miles. He wondered if there was a relation, but doubted he'd ever know for sure. Maybe his AI would find out, when it saw Desmond.

Clay kept his attention on the three people who had come. Checking for tears, for quivering lips. Anything to validate that he would be missed. He didn't expect Bill to show any emotion- he seldom did. But his own father, and Lucy...

Nothing.