Greetings from the Lake District!

I'm currently on holiday here with my family. There's the most amazing mountain/lake views here. It's definitely sped up the writing process; got the juices flowing...anyway, enough about me. Hope you're all having a fantastic summer! Or winter, depending on where you live.

With only a couple of chapters to go, I have a couple of people to thank. Thank you to user PrototypeLQ, who has been going through this story reviewing every single chapter :O you have no idea how useful it is to have that sort of feedback, pal. So thank you. Thank you so much :)

And secondly to user Aldon Blackreyne, who has added Everbound to their community: 'The Great Minds'. That is honestly the highest compliment ever...I don't have a great mind! I was so humbled and touched by that; thank you.

Scratch that. Thank you to EVERYONE for 227 reviews, 122 followers and 104 favourites! :D

HAYTHAM

The roads to New York were encased in darkness.

Well, I say roads. That would have been far too unsafe. In the forest paths, Ziio and I ploughed through a sheet of rain, sliced through a bitter wind...and I was sure I heard the crashing of thunder.

We had to make it to shelter.

My lips and knuckles were cracked from the wind. I wondered how much further there was of this – and whether we were even headed in the right direction. I had never been so clueless all my life. I was blinkered as my horse, who spurred on into the night.

We rode without stopping. We rode through shadow, through open road, for six hours. We exchanged no words – no meaningful words. On a few occasions, Ziio would indicate a path ahead of me, or ask to slow down to give her horse a rest.

At this point, she slowed to a halt in the middle of the path. Ziio bent to pat her mare's neck, muttering to her in Mohawk like an animal whisperer. She lifted her head, slowly, and I glimpsed her bit lip. She was thinking. I slowed beside her.

"We won't make it to New York before sunrise," she despaired, "will we?"

She was right: Connor's request was impossible. If only we had left a day earlier...even then we would not make it. I knew that our son wanted us to remain under cover of night, but this? This was too much. We'd been travelling for six hours; it was probably only midnight. Another eighteen hours to New York, at least.

"You're right. Did Connor not give us a back-up plan?" I asked.

"He gave me some names. Taverns and inns owned by Assassin spies," she recalled aloud. "Where was the first one?"

"Another ten miles, at least," I calculated roughly. "The Fox Den? Was that its name?"

Ziio nodded slowly in recognition. She patted the horse's soaking neck again; it snorted inaudibly under the storm. "We have overworked the beasts. Ride slowly."

"Wait – Ziio."

Having re-gripped the reins, Ziio let them slack in her hand again. "What?"

"Are you alright? In a time where communication is key, we've scarcely said a word." I cleared my throat. "It concerns me, that's all."

She frowned like I was speaking a foreign language. "Not here, Haytham. We need to focus on finding shelter."

The village bells struck one just as the Fox Den came in sight.

It was at the end of a cobbled road, lit by a single lamp. The wooden sign swung violently in the wind; the lettering was invisible. There probably was sound booming from the place, but I couldn't hear a thing over this torrent.

I hoped this was the right place. Not that I wanted to search all over again. My fingers were limp from the freezing night. My clothes, even my cape, were soaked through. I dismounted and, wringing out my grey hair and hat, handed the horse reins to Ziio.

"Wait here," I said, teeth chattering. "We'll need to make sure the innkeeper knows who we are."

Sluggishly, Ziio took the reins as I approached the inn. My feet were numb, having been in the stirrup for hours. I needed rest. My God, I needed rest. I was too old for this sort of mission. My energy was all but lost to cynicism and senescence.

On staggering through the door, I was hit with a wave of instant warmth. The goldenness of the lamps; the crackling log fire. The dark, quenching smell of ale soaked into my nose. I seemed to exhale massively, looking at the nearly empty inn. The stairs were in the corner by the fire. How I just wanted to stagger up them and into a warm bed...

The innkeeper, Haytham. Focus. The innkeeper.

I barely took in his appearance: staring grey eyes, peppered hair, white skin...and slightly gaping mouth on seeing me. Behind the bar, he was busy counting coins. He quickly stood up when I approached.

"Hello," I began, seemingly dysfunctional.

"I...I know who you are." The man gaped even more. "I've heard your name for years. You're...you're Connor's father, aren't you? Haytham Ken –"

"Where have you heard that name?"

His eyes widened on recognising why I was cautious. "Nothing is true..."

"Everything is permitted," I finished. "Good. I have found the right place."

"What brings you to my inn?"

"Did Connor not inform you of my..." I looked around to check no-one was listening. "Expedition?"

"Don't let's talk this through here," he murmured. Then, loudly: "You staying the night, then?"

"Yes. A room for two, please."

"Two?"

I wandered towards the door again, ignoring the stares I was attracting. Opening the door was like dipping my head into a cold lake. Nonetheless I nodded out into the darkness at Ziio. "Come inside. This is it."

Half an hour later, the exhaustion had faded somewhat. Ziio and I sat on the side of a bed with crisp, white sheets. Opposite us sat the Assassin innkeeper, Adam Spruell. He had equipped both of us with warm drinks, which we sipped while soaking in the warmth of the room. Such a relief.

Nonetheless, we had business to discuss.

"You've come a long way in one night," Adam mused. "Any more time outside and you could've died in that cold."

"We're Assassins," I shrugged. "We're thick-skinned."

"Of course." Adam pressed his dry fingers together, leaning forward in his chair. "Brash of me to ask...then again, as an informant I am trained to ask: why the hurry? Why try and chase Thomas Flood now?"

I looked at Ziio; she would explain this better than me. But she was busy staring into the bottom of her cup. Silent; rigid; retreated mysteriously into her thoughts, like she had been before Soyala's funeral.

"Many reasons." I decided to explain it myself. "It was Achilles' dying command for us to chase him. He felt we deserved to watch Flood die."

My eyes must've glazed over coldly, for Adam simply raised his hands. "I won't ask."

Probably best.

"Do you have a plan of action? Where are you staying next?"

"I'm not sure," I confessed. "Connor gave us very few details of this mission. There was no time. He wanted us to have reached New York within the next few days, certainly. We will stay at inns similar to this one. He did give us a list of places."

"You know, not all Assassin bases are inns," he said half-jokingly. "Can't expect to sleep easy every night."

"I know. And we're not expecting it." I sipped my lukewarm cocoa, letting the bitterness seep through me. "But can you tell us anything of where Flood stands? Of why he is in New York?"

Adam shrugged. "Not sure. Information has been shady for weeks now. No-one talks, and no-one hears nothing. But...it's got something to do with that old fort."

"Fort George?" I exclaimed incredulously. "The old Templar base? That Fort George?"

"The very same."

"But why? I thought that disbanded when I left the Templar Order."

He shook his head. "Don't know. But I know this, Haytham: you look tired. Really tired. Both of you. What you need is a good night's sleep. You can begin your...expedition...in the morning. Just get some rest."

"Wait – one more thing."

"Anything."

"Could you..." I reached under the brass bed and pulled out the Precursor box. Without me having to say anything, Ziio reached around my neck and slung the amulet over my head. I nodded at her, then at Adam. "Could you please find somewhere safe for these? Somewhere really, really safe?"

Adam's eyes glowed like the Precursor cave. Mesmerised, he took the artefacts from me. "What are they?"

"Objects of great importance," Ziio said shortly. Both Adam and I were surprised when she spoke; she hadn't all evening. "Objects which the Templars must never, ever find. Should the worst happen, we...we must protect them with our lives."

"I have a padlocked chest I keep behind the counter," Adam murmured, still examining the artefacts. "I'll fetch it for you."

He ran his fingers along the grooves in the box, like a child touching a toy for the first time. And to me, it served as a grave reminder of just how curious the artefacts were; how precarious their appeal was. Nobody knew for sure what they did, but anyone with common sense knew it had to be dangerous.

"Thank you. Thank you for all of your help," I said sincerely.

Ziio also murmured a thanks, which was unlike her. Usually she would at least attempt to be polite. But not tonight. Jesus, I knew she was tired...but so was I. She'd left all the talking to me.

As Adam placed the artefacts down on the floor, rose from his chair and left, I remembered it. Ziio and I never had our talk. I never checked to see if she was alright, partly because I knew she wasn't. None of the Assassins were. But this silence was scaring me. It was happening all too often at the moment.

Of course, I did not love or respect Ziio any less for it. It was her way of dealing with pain and fear, in a way which harmed no-one. Me? I wasn't quite so tame with the situation. I showed absolutely nothing; not even to myself. When Charles rocked up on our doorstep, my anger was released...almost in the form of a bullet. That was not courageous. That was bloody dangerous.

Neither myself nor Ziio were emotional people, but now that we were alone, it was a good time to come to terms with all this. "Are you alright? Really?" I asked her.

"Tired," she replied, uncoiling her back like a cat, "but warm. Safe. For now. That is an improvement from earlier."

I couldn't help but laugh a little – not because what she said was amusing, but because I saw her smile. And that brought a smile to my own lips. Not feeling particularly romantic in my fatigue, I kissed her temple and whispered: "Good."

"You are quite an actor, Haytham," she said suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"You are a natural at...wearing a mask. Keeping your true self contained in the walls of your mind."

"Dear God, no. It isn't healthy, Ziio. I shouldn't do it."

"But you do. I wish I could."

"No," I chuckled. "You really don't. Although I was too blunt for my own good in the years before...before we were reunited..."

Suddenly I lost my trail of thought. I was swept back to four years ago, when Ziio saved me from Benjamin Church. I remembered the literal Assassin mask she wore aboard the ship; how it hid the woman I loved. It reminded me that in almost every ethical peril, love had been the thing which had saved me. But always in the most surprising ways.

Let's hope love can see me through this one.

"What are you thinking about?" Ziio asked, stroking my head.

"You," I half-smiled.

Jesus, Haytham. You must be delirious. Analysing the meaning of life...when you're on the run. And bloody exhausted, too.

I didn't care that Ziio's kiss was flavourless. We were tired, and she was all I had now. She was my very sanity, until our family was complete again. In her arms, I would've started aching for our children; for Aaron and Alexa and Connor...but I was tired. Too tired.

So tired...

INTERMEZZO THREE

"What do you mean, you lost them?"

Flood stared shamefully at the fort floor. Respect his grandmaster though he did, those frosty eyes were always hard to face.

"No. Even I find that hard to accept," his boss yelled. "They were children, Thomas! And you have the audacity to come to headquarters and tell me they outran you?"

"That was not what happened, Master Lee. We let them go."

"When your orders stated to hold them captive?"

Flood's eyes wandered around the fort office. Every crack in the wall, every speck of dust lit by dim candlelight, said that this place needed to be rebuilt. The Templars picked their headquarters poorly, he felt. They'd be better off in Boston. Still, it wasn't Flood's call. He was the one being scorned.

"We did not know the circumstances," he sighed finally. "Yes, the plan was to hold them at gunpoint. But Haytham was not there to watch us take them. The threat was empty. Those little Indians could've run anywhere. They could've had Kenway's allies anywhere. The time delay between finding them and Kenway's return was not worth the wait."

"You disobeyed orders to suit your knowledge of the situation," snarled Charles, digging his fingernails into the table. "I am more than disappointed, Thomas. I am outraged at your behaviour."

Flood sighed. He reached carelessly for a box of matches on the table, then for his pipe. Striking a match, he watched the flame before he lit the pipe; anything to escape Lee's glare. "What was the motive behind this whole plan, in any case?"

"Kenway possesses something very important to me." Charles' anger was replaced with a hollow voice: tobacco had always tickled his throat somewhat. "That was the last chance I gave him to hand it over alive."

"We did not know he would be out. Misleading information –"

"I've had enough of your excuses," Charles hissed. "I want you to find Kenway. I don't care how you do it. It matters not if you kill him. I want you to find that artefact and bring it to me."

"The box?" Flood sucked on his pipe thoughtfully, then exhaled in revelation. "And the amulet?"

"Any documentation on the Native land would be a bonus. If Kenway has half the wit he had when I knew him, he'd have hidden by now...and hidden those objects somewhere secret."

"Then why kill him?" Flood spoke a little too passionately, coughing on the musky smoke he exhaled.

"Because...I grow ill of his escapades and narrow escapes. He has run from my clutches far too many times. If I am to close the net on Kenway, I don't care how he dies. I no longer care for the pleasure of killing him myself. I just want him dead."

Outside, there was a cry from one of the guards. Soon, the mens' words were smothered by the sound of chains grinding. Flood knew this meant someone was coming.

"Ah, that will be my order," Charles murmured to himself.

"Order?"

"A delivery. Part of our plan – I will write to you explaining. It would take too long now."

They may well have to cut the meeting short, Flood thought. But there was much more which Thomas didn't understand.

"No, that's not what I meant. Why kill Kenway if he holds information?"

"Oh. Have a confession out of him first. Use your imagination, Thomas. I trust you despite your incompetence."

"I can organise a search party? Our finest men?"

"Good." Charles looked down at the scratches he'd made in the table. How would this be possible? "What do we know of Kenway's position already?"

"Rumour has it he's on the run," Flood frowned uncertainly.

Lee could have laughed out loud. Finally – finally – a trick which Haytham had blindly fallen for. "Excellent! He's playing right into our hands. Look in every inn and tavern between Boston and New York, unless you receive word to narrow your search. I'll send men who knew Haytham personally. They will be a separate search party."

"Knew him personally?"

"Anyone who deserves to see him shamed. Most are dead, but I can recall a few whom Kenway wronged." Charles walked his fingers along the scratches. "Believe me, there are many more than you think. Now, we are soon to be interrupted. I will send word of this in more detail as soon as I can. Any final questions, Thomas?"

"Wait – the Indians. Kenway's oldest son...and Ruth."

At the sound of that name, Charles' whole body froze. Ziio. The woman he'd good as left for dead. The woman he'd put through torment, misery, and Hell on Earth. How could he forget such a shameful crime? It was not until he saw the woman again last week that he realised what he'd done, nearly eighteen years ago. The man's body squirmed like he'd been put in chains; made to confess.

Did he regret what he did?

Of course he did. Not because it was Ziio; the savage was a thorn in the Templars' sides anyway. It was that Charles could sink that low. It was that – bottle in hand – Charles Lee could ever be that desperate for company. What a young fool he was. No wonder he stirred so much hatred in Haytham, and the rest of his family.

Part of him wanted to repent for his crimes. But he was a Templar, and regret was all too often a symptom of disloyalty. But could he kill Ziio, after all she had been through? He inhaled Flood's tobacco in the air, closed his eyes and tried to remember her face. Her eyes were tired. Beyond tired – they looked like they would close forever with one more tragedy. One more wound to her heart, and the woman would crumble.

Could he really kill Haytham and leave her to waste away?

No. It was the only form of retribution he could offer...to put Ziio out of her misery.

"Yes," Charles sighed heavily. "Keep Connor alive for now. Should his parents escape, they could become useful."

"And the woman?"

With one word, Charles would finally put down the feral dog of the Templar Order. The one they'd kept captive for years, released, then come back to haunt. Just one word. He closed his eyes once more, weighed his decision silently, and nodded. "She dies."

HAYTHAM

Day by day. That was how we had to take this.

Ziio and I left the Fox Den early the next morning. It took me a few seconds on waking to remember where I was; the past few days had been nothing but a blur. Adam gave us breakfast, and a list of Assassin bases on the route to New York. The next one was a fair seventy miles away. That was the closest to New York we could safely be.

Connor had warned us to travel under cover of night. But we couldn't stay here all day.

With advice from Adam to stay on the forest path, we set off for our next location: an old warehouse run by one of Gérald's spies. Again, Ziio and I barely spoke for the duration of the ride. We kept our heads low in our cloaks and cantered through the woods.

It was a strange feeling, the wind gushing into my hood; my cape flying like a flag. It reminded me of my younger Templar years, though there was nothing to laugh about now. The breeze was cold; it stung my face rather than stimulate it.

On a few occasions, I considered stopping to check we weren't being followed. Ziio didn't seem to care. She rode recklessly, barely even stopping to look behind her. I expected her to be more paranoid. What had happened? Had she gone beyond that point?

Soon enough, the trees morphed into mazes of buildings. It was then when Ziio began to slow down. Her white robes stopped billowing in the breeze, but were static against the horse's flanks. No movement at all. She was still; tense.

"What now?" I puffed, halting beside her.

Together we observed the distant city murmurs. No, this was not a city – although having been away from civilisation for hours, it seemed like one. Urban noise, urban clanks of steel against steel; clinks of horseshoes against cobbles. The ringing of bells somewhere not far off. The cries of the late afternoon markets, and the aroma of freshly-caught fish. My senses absorbed it all too gladly.

"I was going to ask you the same," she replied croakily.

"Well...plainly, we stay out of sight. But how? Should we stay in the alleyways?"

"Isn't that where the mercenaries always lurk?" Ziio pointed out.

"True." Catching the scent of stewed apples, I could feel my stomach gurgling. "Is there a high enough tree to climb? To have a better view, I mean. Then we might plot our way around carefully."

Ziio nodded, and to my surprise, pulled down her hood. Her braids were frayed and falling out; she shook her head and looked up at the branch above. It didn't take her long after that. She thrusted the reins into my hands, saying: "Hold these." And with out looking at me, slipped her feet from the stirrups and climbed onto her horse's back. She wobbled a little, but soon crouched that she could reach the branch above. The horse was agitated, pulling back on the reins in my hand.

"What are you doing?" I laughed, already knowing.

Like a white squirrel, she slipped into the branches and was gone within seconds. I rolled my eyes affectionately. It was the only form of comic relief I'd had all week, watching Ziio – now aged fifty – scramble up a tree with no problem. What did that say about my quality of life now?

After a minute of rustling, I heard a shout of: "There's a path around the back of that market."

"Guards?"

"A few. They're mostly at the front observing the people...from what I can see."

"I'll let you lead the way."

Ziio could've clambered down safely – but no, she had to jump. The horses and I startled when she landed smoothly in front of us. Again, laughter rippled from within me, filling the emptiness of my entire body. I taught Ziio to dive like that.

"You remember the tricks of the trade, clearly."

"I'm an Assassin," she shrugged, brushing a leaf from her hair. "Although Eva was impressed by what I knew already. About air assassinations, at least."

"That was not an assassination," I teased. "I haven't annoyed you quite enough for that."

"Oh," she smirked, taking the reins, "you carry on this way, and it might have been."

After one more roll of my eyes, I let Ziio lead me through the town. It couldn't have been a very large one, because I almost felt as if we were going in circles. Not because the streets all looked the same (though there was that too), but because it seemed so...lifeless. Compared to Boston, in any case. The village with Adam's inn was only dull because it was night-time; in any case...there was a warm bed and hot meal there. That was all that I was concerned with.

Yes, there was a little greenery about the place. There was a smear of grass on the side of the street, with a dusting of flowers and weeds growing. Another thing I noticed while riding through was the number of negro people. None of them were slaves, either: they were dressed in elegant breeches and frocks. Nobody seemed to notice them. I supposed they'd been set free by the Assassins. People simply accepted them in a small town like this. I was sure that warmed Ziio's heart, but did not comment on it while we rode.

Not until she stopped. She halted her horse in the middle of the street. How foolish, I thought initially, but then I saw her facial expression. That spoke a completely different message. Not foolishness...alarm.

"What?" I asked.

Her nostrils tensed, released, and repeated. Something had struck a chord...and it was attracting attention from onlookers.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered.

Before I'd even asked: "Hear what?", Ziio kicked her horse into a trot down an alleyway. What the hell was she doing? We had to stick to the safe path. What if she'd heard guards? She was walking straight into trouble.

"Ziio!" I called, but to no avail. I'd have to follow her.

Between the white painted walls, I edged my horse to join Ziio. She was already dismounting hers; she pressed her back against a wall and seemed to blend in with it. It wasn't until she pressed her finger to her lips that I realised: she was eavesdropping.

"What?" I mouthed, then strained my ears.

Yes. There was noise coming from the green courtyard on the other side of the wall. A wooden fence stood between us and the source of the...voices? I thought it was voices. I looked at Ziio questioningly, then pressed my back against the cold wall to listen too.

"Please...leave me alone..." It was a woman's voice; a foreign voice. Then came the bash of a fist. At least, I assumed so; the said woman began to scream in pain. "Stop! Stop!"

"Don't you fool me around," came a man's snarl. "I know you took it. Where is it, you whore?"

"I...I don't have your money," the woman stuttered. "I am an honest woman...st-stop hurting me..."

"Honest?" There followed a hideous laugh, somewhere between a cackle and man being maimed. "Ain't no honest women in your profession. Now where's my money, bitch?"

Ziio looked at me with wide eyes. She saw a hole in the wooden fence, and edged over to look through it. After a few more seconds' shrieking and beating, Ziio rolled back onto the wall with a thud. Her chest heaved in distress; distress of what she'd just seen.

"A prostitute," she whispered. "A slave – I think. And a guard."

I shook my head, wincing at the woman's screams. "Ziio, we shouldn't interfere. We're wanted as it is!"

"But –"

Suddenly a sound made Ziio double in height. It was the click of a musket against its holster, followed by the woman stifling her own gasp. "Now, I'm warning you...I'm warning you!" the man shouted. "Hand it over in five seconds, or I will shoot!"

"I don't have it! I don't have –"

"Five..."

"Please!"

"Four..."

Ziio squeezed her eyes shut, her body shuddering like it would in a nightmare. She clenched her fists. I opened my mouth to stop her. I knew what she wanted to do. But I couldn't let her. Not now. Not now.

"Three..."

"No! Please!"

Before I could stop her, Ziio whipped around the corner. My head was pounding; telling me to run away. I closed my eyes, waited for what seemed to happen in slow motion...

"Hey, you!"

The woman screamed one more time, but it was overcome. Not by the firing of the musket, but by what I feared. The click of a hidden blade. The sound of slicing into flesh. The mangled yelp of the man in his dying moments.

I rolled over to look at the hole in the fence – and saw Ziio lowering him to the ground. The negro woman's dress was sprayed with blood. She stuffed her fist into her mouth to mask her shock.

Ziio, no. No no no no no. What have you done?

"Run before the guards see you!" she told the woman, before racing back round the corner. Her blades were dripping blood until she retracted them. But worst of all, her hood had been down for the entirety of her deed. Anyone could have seen her! Anyone could trace the blood on the courtyard.

"What did you do?" I yelled.

"Hurry!"

In one swift movement, we both mounted our horses and galloped blindly through the courtyard. In the brief moment I saw it, the crime scene was clear. It was loud as thunder. It screamed murder...and so did the civilians, whose voices I heard in the rush of the wind. Pandemonium swept across the open space; people dashed in all directions. One man who ran under my horse yelled for the guards.

I kicked my horse harder. I didn't even brace myself as I knocked down a washing line – I had to get out of here. Ziio raced behind me, but I didn't want to look at her. How could she be so bloody thoughtless? We were fugitives. Of course, she just had to be the gallant heroine. Never mind our mission to stay undetected.

Never mind that now. You need to get out of here.

Eight hooves crashed like thunder through the street. I didn't care how much attention we were attracting now. We just had to leave. I saw a few baffled faces, flashing past as I did. Then came the distant shouts of guards. I dared not look back. I had to keep going. Just keep going.

My heart slammed against bone. Cold air seared through my mouth; through my veins. It gave me a cold panic and determination. Like my horse, I focused my vision only forwards. Around a corner. Past an inn. Through the parting crowds. Down another dark alley.

We couldn't go back into the woods...but that was our only option. In my blind apprehension, I re-traced our route into the trees once more. Left. Right. Around the bookshop...oh what did it matter? We would have to improvise.

The cries were becoming more and more distant. That, or my head was pounding harder and harder. I was sure they were in the distance now. We'd escaped – thank God – but we had to keep going. Keep going until we were completely under cover, in the depths of the woods.

Finally, the low branches were visible again. We were under cover, finally. As my horse tired, Ziio began to overtake me. And I hated to see the blood staining her stirrups. I hated to think she could be so goddamn ignorant. It'd be hours before we could come out of these woods. Possibly even a day. Where would we go?

I don't think I'd ever been so furious with her. But I couldn't show it. Not now. Not when all we had was each other.

This is going to be a long day...

"Accommodation for one night, please."

Hours later, Ziio and I had backtracked to a previous town. We went past this one on the border of the woods earlier that morning. Hopefully we would be anonymous. Anonymous enough to settle down here for a little while.

I still couldn't look Ziio in the eye. Besides, she'd gone into one of her silent stupors again. Without her input, I had suggested going into an inn; I had suggested buying ourselves a hot meal; I had suggested staying there after we'd eaten our fill.

This should have been a tavern, not an inn. The floors were sticky like treacle under my feet; the stench of rotting wood was vile. Thankfully, there were no 'musicians' to ruin the place any more.

The man behind the counter seemed unable to smile. He had a frame of shaggy black hair, and a poorly-shaved beard to match. Something in his face, I realised with a sting, reminded me of Shay. He grimaced at the money I held before him, before snatching it off me. "Name?"

Ziio looked at me warningly. I couldn't say Haytham Kenway. Not here – this wasn't an Assassin base. Dammit, I remembered suddenly. The Assassin spy will be wondering where we were. If he says we never made it to his base...that'll worry Connor unnecessarily. Well played, Ziio.

"Name?" the innkeeper repeated.

"Achilles." Then, seeing his frame of black hair: "Cormac."

I half expected the man to look questioning, but he didn't. He slipped the money under the counter with a crooked smile. "One night only? All right. It's the room on the end. You'll have to wait – there's a man clearing out of there this evening."

As he turned away, Ziio frowned at me as if to say: Why Cormac?

"A friend," I said curtly.

She shrugged, then went to sit down. Not even an apology, I'd heard from her. Never mind. We could talk about this in private...later. Perhaps I wouldn't be so frayed after a good meal. It'd been twelve hours since I'd eaten; the only thing I was filled with was negativity. Even with the murky aura of the inn, the smell of steamed fish was beginning to hypnotise me. It would make me forget...so I hoped.

No, it wouldn't.

At midnight, Ziio and I made our way up to our room. Artefacts tucked under my arm, I opened the end door to a dilapidated room. The dark red paint was chipping from the wall; the windowsill was plagued with dead flies. I sighed despondently, but I supposed I should've expected a room this tattered. Still, it had a clean bed and somewhere to store the artefacts. That was what we needed.

Dropping the Precursor box on the bed, I wandered over to the bedside table and found the matchbox. Upon striking one and lighting the candle, I could see just how run-down this room was. Never mind.

Ziio said nothing; she slipped out of her Assassin robes the moment she entered. Untangling herself from the white robes, she sat on the bed and kicked off her boots. Still no words. Her expression was sour, like she could taste my disappointment in her. It hadn't gone away, not even after a meal in awkward silence. And I couldn't see Ziio initiating conversation any time soon.

So instead I broke the silence. "We'll have to be cautious, coming back. Perhaps we can devise an alternate path tomorrow. One which avoids that town."

"Shouldn't be difficult," she muttered. "We are a good eighty miles from New York. The paths are endless."

"Yes, but not all of them are safe." I stuffed the Precursor box under the bed, covering it with my cloak. "We cannot afford any more...close escapes."

I glanced at the mirror in the corner of the room...and caught Ziio scowling at me. If tension was fabric, it'd be too coarse for me to cut here. It was made even thicker when Ziio saw me staring at her reflection.

"What?"

"I don't believe you." I stood...and my anger bubbled to the surface. "Acting so carelessly...and with not even a hint of remorse. I honestly don't believe you."

"Don't you? You don't believe how much seeing slaves hurt hurts me?" she snapped. Like her voice, she slowly began to rise. "And I don't mean tears and a little sadness, Haytham. I mean that the sight makes me sick. It gives me the impulse to tear out the attacker's heart. And feed it to them. And watch them taste its bitterness –"

"We had strict orders," I snarled, lashing out, "to remain on the path!"

"We also have a duty to free the enslaved!"

My chest heaving, rage boiling, I felt something snap. "Yes. Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you." My charged murmur turned to a shout. My anger overtook me as I grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "But in case you hadn't noticed, Ziio, this is not a normal circumstance!"

"Then what is?" she roared.

That was when I looked at her properly. I saw my tiredness reflected in the pool of her eyes...and knew that this was not the answer. This was what I had meant when I said bottling my rage was dangerous. I underestimated how quickly I could flare up. My heart was racing all over again; when my head steadied, I realised what I had done.

I attacked Ziio. I attacked the woman I loved.

This was a woman who'd suffered years of abuse through men. Although she masked it incredibly well, bouts of rage like this must've made her uneasy. I didn't want her to see me in the same way she saw Flood. Or Johnson. Or...or Charles Lee. The man who...the man who...

I let go of her, turning around to hide my shame. In the window pane, I could see her frozen stiff. It wasn't until I'd paced to the other side of the room when she relaxed. What kind of sick bastard was I?

"You know what? I haven't the energy for this," I murmured into my collar. "I just can't believe where you've landed us. I know this sort of abuse is atrocious to you, but...but how could you be so selfish?"

"Selfish?" Her tone was bordering on hysterical. She whipped around, fierce as her words: "Selfish? Oh, that is a claim. Saving the life of an innocent, and possibly more assaulted by that man. Of course. How selfish of me."

"Oh for God's sake!" I kicked her pile of robes across the bedroom floor. "Don't lose the reasoning you pride yourself on. Just accept it, Ziio: in this case, you were wrong. And a heavy price we're paying for your mistake. Do you hear me? Your mistake!"

Ziio bared her teeth, about to bite back. But then my words hit her square in the chest. Her mouth gaped wordlessly; she edged backward towards the door. It was rare for her to admit she was wrong, but this was a start. A revelation. A wake-up call. And for a moment, it dulled my temper. As I watched her eyes moving across the floor, I felt relieved of rage. But suddenly that made me exhausted. Extremely exhausted.

"Look," I said softly, collapsing onto the bed, "I know that both of us are frayed. Both of us are paranoid and homesick. But we cannot lose our heads now."

Having backed into the corner, Ziio instead began folding her robes on the floor. But I wasn't finished.

"And...I do know how much slavery angers you, Ziio. I appreciate it fully. But if you really want to help the greater good...wait until we find Flood. If you can kill him, thousands of slaves – not hundreds, thousands – will be free from harm. Rescuing one slave when we can free thousands at a time? Now, that is for the greater good. You have to trust me. And look. Even if it is a suicide mission, and the worst happens – we die – then...perhaps we'll be martyred. Perhaps the slaves would be inspired by our sacrifice and rebel."

Ziio froze in front of the mirror. She stopped turning the clothes over in her hand. Something in her eyes was...distant. Melancholic. Frozen in the icy fire of her emotion. "Does it really matter?" she murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"Whether we die fighting Flood or saving one person? Does it really matter how we're martyred? If we're martyred at all?"

I frowned in disbelief. What in the world was Ziio on about? Was she...was she implying that we'd die either way? I shook my head. "What? Don't be so defeatist."

"I'm sorry, Haytham," she said darkly. She turned to face me on the floor, eyes tepid. "Charles has control of the Continental Army. That is a force far larger than our own. So why has he not killed us yet?"

It took me a while to realise it was a rhetorical question.

"Because he's playing games," she spat. "He is humiliating us."

So this was why she was so quiet; so careless of being caught. She was expecting death.

"And he has what he wants. He's taunted you for years with letters and spies watching you. He's burned down months of our building work. He's killed our closest friends. He's come to our homestead to provoke us personally. And now...he threatens our children, such that we have to run away. How much more proof do you need? He's teasing us. He wants to see how low we can sink before we die!"

Her words rolled through my mind like an icy stream. I never knew what morbid thoughts Ziio was capable of. A side effect of her abuse, probably, but she was right about so many things. Charles was playing games with us. But how was that any different to all the times we'd survived? What made her think this was the end?

"This isn't like you..."

"We won't see it through this time, Haytham. I can feel it."

At this point, she should have been on the verge of tears. So why wasn't she? Something was changing within her; making her cynical and disturbing her behaviour. She was no less sane than me at the moment...but how should a man react to such graphic claims?

"Don't be ridiculous." I came to sit next to her on the floor. Like it'd be scolded, I was cautious to put my hand around her shoulder. "How many times have we scraped out of danger alive? The times are countless."

"Exactly." She stared at her hollow, flickering reflection. "Too many to be fair. Fate will give us what we owe this time. I know –"

"Oh, for God's sake," I sighed. "You know, your talk of fate is utter nonsense. If only you knew how much it hinders you –"

"What do you mean, nonsense?" Her voice quivered quietly. "Believing in fate is what has given me life. It kept me hopeful in my darkest days."

"Well, neither hope nor cynicism will see us through this, Ziio." I came a little closer, as if to whisper in her ear. She did not flinch when I said softly: "Right now, we must focus on the realities. And right now, Flood is in New York amassing and army. Right now, slaves are suffering...and will continue to suffer unless we kill Flood. Right now, we are so notorious that even our children are unsafe at home. That is the reality."

Ziio nodded bleakly, her chest falling in a sigh beneath her blouse.

"What are our chances of survival?" I continued. "Well, the odds are certainly against us...but they always are. They always have been. So to abandon any trace of hope now...? That's the suicide mission. We have so much to fight for, Ziio. Just because we cannot see those things; those people...does not mean they are not there."

She knew whom I meant. Connor. Aaron. Alexa. The Stirlings; the Matieus...and all the Assassins. Not to mention the slaves, and all those who died. Never in vain, either. We would make sure of it. Ziio would make sure of it. I could see the vibrance returning to her eyes...and I relaxed. I released the last breath of exasperation I felt for her. She looked up at me, twitched her cheek, then rested her head against my neck.

"I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry for losing my judgement."

I kissed the top of her head, breathing its warmth I could always rely on. "And I'm sorry for losing my temper."

Both of us as arrogant as we were, 'sorry' was a difficult and sour word to say. It was to admit defeat. But admitting defeat to each other? Well, that was love, was it not? As I felt Ziio's lips press against my neck again, relief fluttered through me. No matter what she said or did, Ziio was all I had now. Cherishing her unconditionally was not a choice. It was a part of me. A part of which I was completely unashamed.

We stayed on that rocky floor for ten minutes, in the continuity of each other's company. The argument long dissolved, I closed my eyes and listened to Ziio's heartbeat. It was slow; tranquillised, like a lake with no wind. It was then when I asked: "What do you make of all this?"

"Today? Or...the past week?"

"No – longer," I replied. "Since...since Soyala."

"Oh." Ziio sat up from being in my arms. She hoisted herself onto the bed, staring at the candlelight flickering on the wall. "I feel as if something is missing. A piece of evidence – just something."

"I feel the same." I felt her warm fingers massaging my scalp; I closed my eyes and smiled internally. "How did the Templars know...?"

"How did they know about Soyala?" she despaired. "About Jack, Prudence and Toby attacking the base? They must have known in advance, somehow. And again, when Charles let himself in. If there was no spare key, he must have broken in. But I saw no evidence of it."

"And when Alexa and Aaron were home alone," I continued. "That conflicts me further. Surely they would have known we wouldn't be in? If their plan was to threaten the children in front of us...then did they really have sufficient spies? My mind keeps going in circles. I can't break the chain...but I know we are missing the one thing which has allowed for all this to happen."

Ziio's fingers slowed, working their way through my hair. "I know...but I have my suspicions. It was something François said before we left. There must be an inside source. A traitor...or some other inside spy."

"You mean to say," I frowned, "that there is a double agent within the Brotherhood?"

"It is my theory. But I have barely had time to dwell on it. Not since the deaths of...Soyala and the others. If there was a traitor, she would identify them soon enough. She may have been unsuspecting of her friends, but her intuition was faultless." Ziio let out a little laugh. "She could always tell when Ohitekah was lying. Or Imala, for that matter."

"I can imagine," I chuckled. "Bless her."

"But...it is the sort of thing I would consult her about. Often I think to myself: 'I should speak to Soyala about this', but then I remember. I remember that I couldn't consult her about that or anything. Sometimes I forget that she is gone...and I lose the will to fight."

"I forget too," I confessed. "Sometimes I remember the people I have lost more than the people I have gained. Does that make any sense?"

"Yes...perfect sense."

At that moment, we were interrupted by the door. Not a knock on the door, either: running footsteps outside. Heavy ones. Then came the rustling of the stiff door handle. Someone was trying to get in. Suddenly alert, Ziio and I both sprang to our feet. Whoever they were, they didn't knock. That was never promising when we were on the run.

Ziio backed away, arms raised ready to draw her hidden blades. I snapped into focus the moment the intruder burst in.

No...

Rapidly, I lost focus again. My knees were fit to buckle; my lungs could not draw breath. My head was spinning. I couldn't look at our intruder. Was my mind playing tricks, or were those really the robes I recognised? The Assassin-Templar robes, complete with red sashes and hidden blades? Complete with the short black queue, the stubbly chin, the questioning brown eyes? Was it really...?

"No," I breathed. "It can't be..."

"Ssh! Keep quiet," Shay Cormac whispered urgently.

I stood dumbfounded as he marched between myself and Ziio. My heart gave a lurch – it truly was him! – but how many surprises did I need today? I thought...I thought I'd never see Shay again. I thought I'd never hear his Irish voice, let alone the trace of goodness in it. So many questions.

"Listen," he said breathlessly, "no time for introductions. I just ran from the Fox Den and there are Templar agents everywhere. They're swarming every town surrounding New York, searching every inn for you."

Head still whirling, I couldn't take this in. Ziio, on the other hand, had her arms outstretched and blades visible. Her brows were furrowed; she wore her shock like a bloodstain. "Who are you? Who is this man?"

"There's no time –"

"W-wait." I shook my head, then looked at them both. Surely this was a dream? Perhaps I'd fallen asleep on that floor. But no. The pile of Ziio's robes were still underneath Shay's boots. He heaved – clearly from running – and that made his presence all the more real. My stomach was twisting and turning. I needed to focus. "Ziio, this is the man who gave me the Precursor box. The man I let live."

"You're a Templar?" she cried in disbelief.

"Keep your voice down!" Shay pleaded, reaching out a hand to stop Ziio ejecting her blade.

"Haytham, why is there a Templar agent in our room?"

"Ziio, please –"

"Ma'am, you have to trust me!"

At that moment, Ziio looked to me and then to Shay; to Shay and to me. I nodded (mouth still open in shock), and she lowered both her hands. Her eyebrows raised to a neutral expression. Shay nodded in gratitude, but the urgency returned to his creased brown eyes.

"I know nothing of why you're here, either of you...but I won't interfere. All I know is that I was given orders to search for you. But I don't want to see you arrested. God knows what Charles would do to you." Now he turned to look at me. The sincerity in his eyes almost broke me. "I don't want to see you die, Haytham. Not after what you did for me."

I blinked. I blinked again. My eyes twitched like Shay's shadow on the wall. Only now was I beginning to make sense of this...he was warning us. He was giving us a chance to escape this place before the Templars found us. So many questions, still. How close were the Templars? How many were there? Had they killed anyone in their wake? Did they know about Ziio's mistake earlier? How far had he run to be here?

The only thing I could utter was: "But you could be shot for this!"

"As could you have been, three years ago when you spared me." Spotting Ziio's robes, Shay picked them up and thrust them into her hand. "Take your belongings...I'll help you out the back door. That way you won't be heard."

In a scramble, the three of us began rushing round the room, picking things up; putting things on. I knelt down and snatched my cloak off the Precursor box. Shay, standing over me, glimpsed it as I pulled it onto the bed. His eyes widened with wonder...but he did not touch it. He did not question; he turned away. There and then, he had the chance to take it for himself. So why hadn't he?

"I fail to see what you gain from helping us," Ziio said gruffly.

"Closure."

Just before I reached across to extinguish the candle, I saw the same sincerity in his eyes. He was here to save us; to spare us...because that was what he owed me. But why would he go to this length to betray the Templars?

I blew out the candle, but still asked: "I don't understand. If you are not with the Templars, then who do you stand for?"

Shay let out a shaky breath, picking up more of our belongings. "I don't know. I have Templar allies, I have Assassin allies...but they aren't so different, I have found. There's no time to explain, but...I stand for good men and women. So right now, I stand with you, Haytham Kenway."

Part of me absorbed this, but my mind was far too tired to analyse Shay's statement. Good men and women. That could have meant anyone. "And Charles? Is he a good man?"

"He never was," Shay hissed. "He never has been."

Ziio opened her mouth to agree, but I cut across her. I grabbed the Templar's padded shoulder, pleading: "Shay, please. We can leave on our own. I don't want to see you caught –"

"And nor do I you. If I am caught, then...then at least I did one thing right in my life. I returned a favour."

We were stopped by Ziio freezing; so did we. Outside the window, in the very distance, I could hear the clopping of hooves against the street. There were shouts – male shouts – but they were very distant.

"Hurry!" Shay hissed. He grabbed my hand and pushed it off his shoulder, stuffing the Precursor box into my hand. "You'll have to jump out the window. I'll fetch your horses; where are they?"

"At the front," Ziio replied. Without questioning his words, she turned to the window. It faced the side of another building, and a narrow alleyway below. She clambered onto the windowsill, opened the window and – like a spider – glided down onto the street. I stuffed the last of our things into a bag and threw it to her.

"Throw the box," she mouthed.

"I can't let it be damaged –"

The walking hooves grew into a trot.

"Quickly!"

I grimaced as I threw the Precursor box, in all its ornamental glory, onto the street below. Ziio caught it – at least, I thought so in the lamp light. Now it was my turn to jump. My knees almost buckled with the effort: I had barely rested. Yes, I was fit for my age, but I had barely been in this room for twenty minutes...and now we were on the run again.

One, two, three...

I plunged blindly into the darkness. The wind whooshed through my cape for only a second, before I landed on the street beside Ziio. I dusted my hands where I'd grazed them, and quickly picked up the bag. The amulet (which I checked for), was safely round my neck. For now.

"What is his name again?" Ziio hissed.

"Shay. Shay Cormac."

"Cormac..." I caught her – even in this grave situation – smirking at me.

"Oh, stop." I nudged her teasingly. She laughed, then returned to her serious, stony expression.

"Why is a good man like Shay wasted to the Templar cause?" she whispered.

"I don't know." I sighed, staring into the street-lamp ahead. "I don't think even he knows. Shay is a conflicted man, even if a good one. The only good Templar I've ever met."

Shay reappeared, both sets of reins in his hand. The horses trailed behind him sluggishly. Neither looked too pleased to be woken at this hour. Unquestioning this time, Ziio rushed to her bay mare, thanked Shay and mounted. It grunted in surprise at her haste – and a shock wave passed through me. Were the Templars close enough to hear us gallop away? No, they had entered a building, clearly. There were no more shouts; no more hooves clattering on the cobbles.

"Stay in the alleys and head for the forest. I'll get out of sight – don't fret."

"Wait – Shay – one more thing."

About to pass my reins to me, he stopped. "Haytham, there is no time..."

"How did you know we were here? How did you know about the Fox Den, for that matter?"

In the pitch darkness, I saw Shay blink with surprise. "I thought you'd ask sooner. I've been stationed in New York since I last saw you. Like I said, Assassin and Templar contacts. I hear everything that happens here." For the first time in the five minutes he'd been with us, Shay smiled. "'Achilles Cormac'. Bit of a giveaway, don't you think?"

Ziio snorted. "I told you –"

"I'll never forget this, Shay." I waited for his attention to turn back to me. Time seemed to slow down, being reunited with this old friend. And now, I was off again. It could be the last time I saw him. Suddenly I felt my throat dry with that realisation. "Not for as long as I live. Thank you."

"Thank you," Ziio echoed.

The beginnings of tears welled in Shay's eyes. As an Assassin, he'd seen many suffer through his mistake. As a Templar, he'd killed his closest friends. He had seen so many hate him for what he had done...but he was a good man, with good intentions. Very few saw that. I was one of them. And now, his efforts had finally been appreciated instead of condemned.

My eyes moistened slightly as we hugged tightly. Years of companionship all came down to this. And my God, I was grateful. He'd saved my life long enough to prosper another step in this mission. I knew I couldn't stay locked in this brotherly embrace, but before me flashed all the positive emotions I felt for Shay. I prayed, silently, that he would live to inflict more virtue on the world.

His familiar scents faded as he pushed me away; helped me mount my horse. Tossing the reins over to me, he hissed: "Now go! Both of you, hurry!"

Tears still blurring my vision, I kicked my mare into a walk; trot; canter; gallop. Shay's tearful face was long behind me in seconds. Just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

Gone like any trace of us in the inn. Gone like even more of my energy; of my time to kill Flood before he found us first. And soon enough, Shay was gone from my mind. I snapped into a predatory focus, watching the shadows skate past me and Ziio. I had to focus on our escape.

Another night of riding without stopping; another night of hiding then waiting; another night of fruitless sleep, if any at all. This was what awaited us. And I was not ready for it.

Will we ever stop running?