As February progressed, I began to read a lot of Achilles' books. He didn't mind sharing as long as I put them back where I got them when I was done. It was a good reprieve from all the work I did. It also helped take my mind off the dreams I was continuing to have. I knew they were about this conflict between the Assassins and Templars, but I was unsure of their purpose. Achilles and Connor were my only ties to that world. I had no personal experience with either faction. Nor was I inclined to delve deep enough into the lore to choose a side. To me, it was like politics. I preferred to stay neutral. The reasons for my dreams confounded me because of that. I felt like I was being pulled to choose. And I didn't want to. I had promised Achilles I would keep his secrets, and I would. But I wasn't inclined to pledge loyalty to his cause if I didn't feel the views fit my beliefs. My allies were my allies, no matter their allegiance.

I asked Achilles for more information on the war. He told me some of the stories, but they didn't give me any insight to my visions. He gave me permission to browse through the literature in the archives passed down through the Brotherhood. They were tales about the lives of previous Assassins. There was even information about Templars in the documents. I found it extremely interesting and far too fantastic to be true, even if it wasn't helpful to my situation. I discussed everything I read with Achilles. He assured me every bit of it was factual. Even the parts about the spirits Ezio claimed to have spoken to.

"Have you ever talked to the spirits?" I asked Achilles.

"No," he said. "But Connor has."

Surprised by that, I decided to ask Connor about his experiences with the spirits. I felt drawn to such knowledge. I was unsure why, but I wanted to know as much as I could about the strange beings. I wondered if they had anything to do with my being here. Those thoughts could be considered conceited, but I had no other explanation for my time travel.

I approached Connor while he was in the basement. I got permission from Achilles before going down there. It felt like forbidden place, one I shouldn't enter without justification. I had not once been invited downstairs or even told what the lower level contained. It wasn't a room I felt I belonged. Looking at it now, I was struck by how it was set up. It was like a war room. There was a fighting ring, a training dummy, weapons, and armor.

Connor was in the middle of a ferocious attack on said dummy when I entered. His tomahawk was in his right hand and there was a knife in his left. He was so focused on what he was doing that he hadn't heard the creak of the wooden steps as I descended. I watched him as he fought, marveling at his prowess. He moved so fast, every swing and slice deliberate and powerful. I had never thought of him a warrior before. I knew he was a good hunter, but I had no idea he was a fighter. Especially not such an amazing one. His speed, his talent, his skill. They were remarkable. I wondered if there was anyone who could match him.

Connor finally paused in his imaginary battle and stood panting with his back to me. He was still unaware of my presence. I took another step toward him. When he still didn't turn, I cleared my throat to get his attention. Connor swung around to face me, uncertainty and annoyance evident on his features.

"Sorry," I said quickly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

The young man wiped sweat from his brow and released the blade in his hand. It snapped back into the holster on his wrist. I realized what it was as it did. It was a hidden blade. The signature weapon of the Order of Assassins. I had read all about their design and functionality in the literature Achilles possessed. They were a fascinating item. I had always wanted to see one, but it had never crossed my mind that Connor owned such a weapon. I guess I had never really considered that he was an Assassin before. I stared at the bracer on his wrist until he moved it from my view.

"Did you want something?" he asked impatiently.

I progressed a few steps farther into the room, looking at my surroundings with interest. "I was just wondering if you had a few minutes to talk."

"About what?" he asked, watching me.

"Um..." I paused trying to think of a good way to begin. My directness often confounded Connor most of the time. I supposed I should ease into the subject if I wanted him to respond positively. I also began to wonder if it was a topic he'd even want to discuss with me. Maybe it was something he didn't like talking about at all.

As I stalled for time, I noticed the pictures hanging on the far wall of the room. I walked over to take a closer look. They were photos of Templars with handwritten notes displaying their name and rank in the Order. I had read about them all, but this was the first time I had see their pictures. I studied them.

"Haytham Kenway is Edward Kenway's son, right?"

"Yes," Connor told me. He was at my side, gazing at the portraits. There was a strange look on his face. I had no idea of its meaning.

"I wonder why he became a Templar," I spoke. "I mean, Edward was an Assassin. I know he died when Haytham was young, but still...You would think he would have raised his son a little better. Did he not even think to warn him about the Templars? Or did he just not care enough to want his own son to follow in his footsteps? It's weird, isn't it? It kinda gives a new meaning to the term dysfunctional family."

I looked at Connor. He was watching me with an annoyed expression on his face. I guessed I had insulted him by speaking about one of the members of his order in such a coarse manner.

"Sorry," I told him. "I didn't mean to make it sound like Edward was a bad Assassin."

"What did you mean?"

"I don't really know," I admitted. "I was just talking."

Connor looked away for a second. "Achilles did not tell you who my father is, did he?"

I shook my head.

Connor pointed to the top picture on the wall. The one of the Templar grand master, whose father I had just been talking about. "His name is Haytham Kenway," he stated with agitation. "That makes Edward my grandfather. I would appreciate it if you would refrain from insulting my ancestors."

I felt sort of bad for what I had said but irritated that Connor hadn't told me that sooner. He'd had the opportunity to stop me from making a fool of myself. Yet, he had said nothing "Why didn't you just say that to begin with?" I asked him testily. "And I didn't insult Edward. Exactly."

"You implied that he did a poor job raising my father."

"Mostly because he died," I defended, knowing that excuse didn't really justify what I had said. "If anything, I was insulting Haytham for being a traitor. You're not mad about that, are you?"

Connor gritted his teeth. "You should remain quiet about things you have no right to speak of, Faith. You are not an Assassin. You are only a maid to them."

His words didn't really offend me so much as amuse me. "You're still in training," I replied haughtily. "That means you're not an Assassin either."

Connor gave me a veiled sneer. "Is that what you think? You are wrong. I have achieved my rank within the Order."

"Oh, really?" I gestured to the photographs on the wall. "All your targets are still alive so you're obviously not a very good Assassin."

Connor glared at me. He took a step closer, using his height to look down at me. He was attempting to intimidate me. I refused to let it work. I stood my ground and rolled my eyes at him. That angered him more and his nostrils flared. I knew I had insulted him as a man and as a warrior. But what little remorse I felt for doing so, I refused to show.

"You think it so easy to take a life?" he stated rhetorically as he eyed me with contempt. "I doubt you would fare well in any form of combat. You could not even defend yourself against a mere animal and required the protection of a poor Assassin like myself. Tell me again how I am the failure."

I gritted my teeth at him. He had no right to say such a thing. I had not even had a chance to defend myself against the wolves. Despite my knowledge to the contrary, I maintained the illusion that I could have fended them off without his help.

Connor's eyes watched me intently. The shadow of a grin played at his lips. "You can say that I do not scare you, but there is fear in your eyes."

He turned away and left the basement. I seethed in rage as I watched him leave. I had never met anyone so arrogant and self-centered in my life. No one had ever made me as angry he did at that moment. I didn't even want to be in the same country as him, let alone the same house.

I stomped up the stairs and grabbed my jacket off the coat rack. Achilles came into the hallway as I opened the door.

"Faith!" The demanding tone in the old man's voice made me stop in my tracks. I didn't turn as he spoke. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk!" I spat. "Don't worry. I'll be back in time to make you dinner."

I slammed the front door on my way out, then began traipsing through the snow with no intended destination. The chilled air bit at my hot face. The discomfort of it irritated me even more than I already was. I cursed Connor in my head for thinking me so weak. And cursed myself for refusing to acknowledge that he was right. The thoughts of how much I hated my life at Davenport house formed in my head, but without vindication.

I felt icy drops on my cheeks. I looked at the sky and saw no snow falling. I wiped my face and was stunned to find that I was crying. I stared at the tears on my fingers. I never wept. Why I would be doing so now was a mystery to me. I brushed the dampness on my jeans and continued to walk.

I didn't really pay attention to where I was going or to anything around me. I just stumbled blindly along the path my feet chose.

When the sun and my anger began to fade, I went back home.