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Moon
Catherine was speechless at the sight of Connor calmly waiting in her basement, but she quickly brushed off her shock and approached him. "Connor, what in the hell-how did you get in here?" she asked, her voice filled with both surprise and relief. She reached out, shaking his arm and pulling him into a one-armed hug.
"The tunnels under Boston… there's a passageway right under your cellar," Connor said sheepishly kind of leaning into her hug. "I came through here and thought I'd wait for you."
Catherine blinked, struggling to process the idea of a secret passageway under her mother's tavern. Had Rose known about this? It seemed there were more secrets than she could count, each one more unsettling than the last.
"Where is it?" she asked, still stunned.
Connor's gaze shifted with recognition. "You mentioned a hidden room in your basement before," he replied, guiding her to the same shelf that had revealed the secret room where she first learned about the Templars and Assassins. He pushed the hidden door open gently leading her into the room. Connor knelt by an old shelf with discolored floorboards, lifting them to reveal a hidden trapdoor beneath. Catherine stared in silence, shaken by yet another secret her mother had kept from her. Each revelation felt increasingly unsettling and heavy.
Before she could fully process it, the creak of the door upstairs made her heart jump. "Hide, quick!" she whispered urgently. Connor moved swiftly, concealing himself in the shadows and closing the secret door behind him.
A beam of lantern light illuminated the stairwell as James entered, his brow creased in concern. "Catherine? Everything alright?"
"Aye, James, I'll be up in a minute," she called back, forcing a calm tone despite her racing heartbeat.
James lingered a moment, his gaze searching her face, but eventually nodded. "Alright. Let me know if you need help," he said, retreating and closing the door behind him.
Catherine let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of her close call. The last thing she needed was for James to discover Connor hiding in her basement. With tensions already high, it could easily create a scandal among the patrons or even draw redcoat attention. Having Hickey lurking upstairs was already a risk she didn't want to take.
"Connor," she whispered, "please stay down here until closing. I'll bring you food, but stay quiet."
Connor looked up at the wooden ceiling as music drifted down from above. "I'll be fine," he assured her.
"I'll close up as quickly as I can," Catherine promised.
True to her word, she moved with urgency. Azura, confused by the sudden rush to close the tavern, didn't ask questions, nor did James, though he threw her a b few concerned glances. Catherine paid Azura for the full night, then hurried her and the last of the lingering patrons out.
James, who was helping a staggering customer, looked at her skeptically. "Are you sure you're alright? I can stay back and help clean up if you'd like."
"It's fine," Catherine insisted with a forced smile.
After assisting the patron to stand, James nodded. "Alright. I will check in on you in a few days."
Catherine exhaled heavily as she locked the door behind the last of them. The tavern was finally empty. Connor had already come upstairs, seated at a table with Aries, stroking the hawk's feathers in quiet fascination.
"Where did you find him?" Connor asked, still petting the bird.
"I bought him from a merchant who was treating him poorly," Catherine replied, taking a seat beside him. She placed a plate of bread and cheese on the table. "He hasn't flown since I got him, but I'm hoping to release him into the frontier once he is healthy enough."
Connor nodded, breaking some bread and offering it to Aries. "I'm glad you're still here," he said after a moment, his voice soft.
She spoke "It's been a hard week… and I ran into your father."
Connor's expression darkened at the mention of Haytham. "How did that happen? I read it in your letter."
"He practically ambushed me at my mother's grave," she said, the memory fresh and raw. "He followed me and tried to convince me to leave with him."
Connor's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening. "I'm glad you didn't go," he muttered, troubled by thoughts of Haytham's urgency in having Catherine leave with him. He knew his father's potential, and the thought of Catherine being caught by him was haunting.
Catherine managed a faint smile. "He used all the right words, tried to make it sound like it was for my own good... but I'm not going anywhere with that man," she said, her voice filled with quiet resolve. After a moment of silence, Connor changed subject, trying to calm himself.
Connor, while continuing to stroke Aries' feathers, directed his attention back onto why he came. "You mentioned something important in your letter?"
"Aye," Catherine replied, her expression growing serious. "I've been trying to track down a letter that was sent to me the day of the massacre. I believe that whoever sent it managed to take back the Precursor box."
Connor's brow furrowed in thought. "And where is the letter now?"
Catherine's lips escaped an exacerbated sigh . "It was with my mother when she died, but her belongings were confiscated. After looking into it, I found out that Haytham has it."
Connor's eyes narrowed. "Then we'll have to retrieve it."
"How?" Catherine asked, worry lacing her voice. "It could be with him or locked away somewhere. I think the Templars are onto me."
"Then we should get you out of town," Connor replied, his tone serious as he leaned closer. "Staying here would be too dangerous."
Catherine frowned, her gaze shifting to the door. "You're probably right. I saw Thomas Hickey here earlier," she said, barely above a whisper.
Connor's posture tightened. "What?"
"He was lurking in the corner, but Azura chased him off after I made up a story about him," Catherine replied, her heart racing at the memory.
"Who is Azura?" Connor asked, his interest piqued.
"A barmaid I hired," Catherine said, glancing around to make sure they were still alone. "She's been helpful but has no idea what I'm trying to do."
Connor's brow furrowed as he considered their options. "We need to tread carefully. Every move we make puts you at risk."
Maybe Connor was right, she should of never came here.
"I trust your judgment, Connor…" The situation weighed heavily on her. She looked out the window, her tired eyes signaling it was past midnight. "It's late. We need rest. You can stay in my room, and I'll take my parents' room," she said, rising to her feet. "Normally, I'd prepare a guest room, but I'm not set up for that yet."
Connor followed Catherine up to the apartments, taking in the cozy surroundings. "I thought you'd have a bigger home," he remarked, glancing around.
Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Your father... I assumed Templars were a wealthy group."
Catherine shook her head, a hint of a smile on her lips. "My father has always been humble, and so was my mother. It was just us, mostly. We do have money, but we don't flaunt it."
Connor nodded. "That's admirable. Simplicity suits you."
Catherine met his gaze, her expression thoughtful. "It's how I was raised. Mama taught me to value hard work over pretty gold and jewels, but though, it didn't stop Da from spoiling her. He had this beautiful wedding band commission for her…" She spoke touching her left finger thinking of her mother's wedding ring. It was gold band that was engraved with metal work of small leaves with ruby embedded into the soft gold metal. Then a wave of sadness washed over her, her mother's wedding ring…it had been promised to her when her mother had eventually passed later in life. Now she will never get it back.
She opened her bedroom door, gesturing for him to make himself comfortable. "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. If you need anything, let me know."
Connor's eyes were drawn to a small portrait on her desk: a man, a woman, and a red-haired child. Realizing it was a Cormac family portrait from her childhood. It had been downstairs, but she decided to take it with her when she returned to the homestead. He saw the likenesses they shared, Catherine had her mother's curly copper hair and bright smile, while the child in the painting had her father's piercing eyes and jaw line.
"Aye, it's them—the Cormac's," Catherine murmured, a touch of sadness in her voice. "Everyone knew my mother, Rose, but Shay Cormac remains a mystery around here."
Noticing the subject was heavy for her, Connor sought to shift topics. "You're talented," he said, gesturing to her artwork pinned on the walls. He recognized her live sketches of tavern patrons.
Catherine offered a small smile. "Thanks. But it's late. I'll be off to bed."
"Good night," Connor replied, watching as she left to her mother's room.
Entering the master bedroom, Catherine was enveloped in the faint scent of her mother's perfume, once again greeted her. She quietly undressed into her chemise, slipping into her mother's robe and climbing into bed. Aries perched near the window, resting his head between his wings. She pulled her mother's quilt over herself, feeling a mix of peace and sorrow.
There was complete silence as Catherine found herself deep in contemplation. Her thoughts were dominated by the image of blood staining the snow. Her mother's blood.
Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks, memories of her mother filling her mind—a silent pain she bore alone. Eventually, the wave of calm washed over her what felt like a long time, and sleep took hold.
Azura made her way to the Green Dragon, knowing that Hickey was most likely lurking there after Catherine had thrown him out. The Persian woman headed straight for the upstairs portion of the inn. Sure enough, Hickey was drinking away his coin, sharing a pint with Lee who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but near the man. Haytham sat at the end of the table, absorbed in his journal, as always busy and never relaxing.
Hickey looked up from his drunken stupor. "Zuzu! Back for more, love?" he slurred, a grin spreading across his face.
"You're an idiot! Why on earth did you show up tonight when I asked you not to?!" Azura shot back, her voice sharp.
Hickey shrugged and drained his pint. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. Besides, there's no way for little Cormac to know who I am," he declared, taking another sip.
"On the contrary, she seemed to know who you were," Azura retorted.
"Wot?" Hickey's confusion was evident.
This caught the attention of both Lee and Haytham. "You spooked her, and she ended up closing the tavern early," Azura explained.
Haytham placed his quill back into its well and looked up. "What exactly happened? Did she confront Hickey?"
"No, but she looked like she was about to fly into a rage when she saw him," Azura replied.
Lee shot a glance at Hickey. "What did you do, you prat?"
"I didn't do anything, Charlie!" Hickey protested, genuinely confused. "The few times I visited were when her mother was alive, and I only ever did business with the Missus on behalf of Johnson from time to time. Rose might have disliked me, but she never showed it in front of the little one."
Catherine had encountered all the members of the Master Templar inner circle at some point in her life. Haytham recalled the time she had snuck aboard the Morrigan, causing him considerable amount of work and head ache. Johnson had to drop his work in New York to take the girl home which was a weeklong travel time by ship. He was impressed by her stealth, especially for a child. It was clear Catherine knew who was part of Haytham's inner circle. But there was a gap in her understanding, she had never realized that Hickey was a Templar. To the public eye, he seemed too loud and obnoxious to be associated with any secret order.
Haytham remembered an incident years ago when a young Catherine Cormac had eavesdropped on a Templar meeting at the Green Dragon Tavern, having followed her father. She was mousy and quiet but remarkably adept at sneaking up on highly trained men. She must have been no older than 10 or 11 at the time, just a clever child. Clutching her school books, timid though.
She had uttered a heartfelt plea to her father not to leave, a memory that lingered with Haytham. Those doe brown eyes had a plea before Shay ushered her off home.
That was the last time he saw Shay, their eyes meeting for just a moment too long. He brushed the thought aside…it was all in the past. Nothing to go back too. The warmth of the Captain's hand in the Grand Master's hand. The act, or feeling could never be returned, or recouped it.
Haytham slowly closed his journal, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had toned out the sound of pure squabbling between Charles and Hickey. The thoughts banished from his mind.
Azura took a seat quickly and leaned in to speak in a lower whisper. "There's one more thing I saw that concerns me." This pulled Haytham from the past, as he listen in on the Templar agents discovery.
Lee raised an eyebrow. "What? Who?"
"I have heard of a man in passing who is traveling with his young son," the woman paused briefly to consider before continuing. "He is known as Dorian, a wealthy individual from an old French family with ties to the Assassins dating back several centuries."
It was possible that the younger Cormac knew Achilles and was aware of the Assassins' existence. The girl had appeared as a grieving daughter, but Haytham remembered the anger and defiance in her voice when she spoke to him. It was unclear if she adopted the Assassins' beliefs because of the tragedy. Haytham perceived the situation as two ships in the night on a collision course, with her mother's death serving as the catalyst as gunpowder and canons exploding.
In that moment, the Grand Master ; Catherine Cormac must not be allowed to be wonder around without an tight leash. This would be how he would hold up his obligation to Shay, his dear friend.
"Hickey," Haytham said, breaking the silence. "I need your help with something."
"Yeah, boss?" Hickey replied, looking intrigued.
"Can you hire mercenaries to carry out a kidnapping?"
"Aye, I can have that done," Hickey answered, his tone serious. "Who are we snatching?"
"The girl…she can't be trusted with her own good." Haytham replied, "I can't stay in town another day, I must return to New York for my own business."
Azura's mouth dropped open in shock. "You're not serious about this? Taking the girl by force until her father returns? I have this under control; I just need to gain the girl's trust."
Haytham looked at Azura with a steely gaze. "I have no doubt about your abilities, but it seems we are past that point. Sometimes we must commit necessary evils. A high-ranking Assassin from Europe may show interest in the girl and use it to his advantage."
Hickey stood up, eager to take action. "I can get it done; just need a bit of coin."
Haytham handed him a small sack filled with money without a second thought. "I don't want her harmed. I just want her brought to Johnson's home in John's Town."
"I'll make sure they know that," Hickey assured him.
Azura crossed her arms, a disapproving look etched on her face. "Shouldn't Cormac be returning within the month? There's no need for such hasty actions."
"If what you saw is true, Catherine might have wandered into unknown territory. After everything Shay did for us years ago." Haytham stated "I won't let anything happen to his daughter. We already failed his wife."
Everyone stopped where they, kind of stunned at the regret that was express in the Grand Master face, it was an rare sight.
"Sir…It's no one's fault, her mother was in the wrong place, wrong time." Lee said, "She should of known better then running around the streets at such an hour."
Azura sighed. "Fine, do what you like, but if anything happens to that child, I swear I will have both of your arses." With that, she stormed away from the Templars, leaving them to their drinks.
Only Thomas watched her leave, stuffing the money into his coat pocket. He decided to follow her before she could unleash her anger on some poor bystander.
He chased after her, trying to keep up with her brisk pace through the streets of Boston, but she seemed to relax a bit when she saw him. "What is it, Thomas?" she snapped, pulling him into a shadowy alley to talk.
"Why are you defending the girl?" Hickey asked, genuinely curious. Azura had only just met Catherine a few days ago and seeing her stand up against the idea of a hasty kidnapping reminded him of a mother bear protecting her cub.
A tense silence hung in the air until Azura found her voice. "That girl needs to make her own decisions. She lost her mother and isn't allowed to have a say in anything."
"Why do you care so much, Zuzu?" Thomas asked, his tone incredulous.
Azura shot him a piercing look at the mention of her infamous nickname. "She should be allowed to make her own mistakes. Her father abandoned her, her mother died; she deserves to find her own way without everyone interfering."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Even if that means joining the Assassins?"
"Yes, because the rest of you need to open your eyes and see what you've done. I'll still do what you want me to do, but I have my reservations about it. Haytham and Lee have wronged that girl."
One of the reasons Thomas admired Azura was her courage to voice her opinions. He would never admit it out loud, but he held an overwhelming fondness for her—some might even say it was more than a simple crush.
Noticing Azura's fiery demeanor, Thomas cracked a smile. She caught it and asked, "What is it?"
"Have I ever mentioned that you're lovely when you go on your rants?" he replied, a teasing glint in his eyes.
Azura felt her anger slowly swayed away like an tide. Her rough edges softened at his goofy smile. "You always know the right thing to say at the right time."
She approached Thomas, grabbed his coat, and kissed him. They shared a kiss under the night sky, with everything else around them unnoticed.
As Thomas lost himself in the moment, he hoped this game of cat and mouse would never end. "You know where I live." Azura said, shoving his chest. "You better be there."
-
Catherine found herself engulfed in a haze of chaos. The air was thick with smoke and dust, choking her lungs as the sounds of shouting and gunfire pierced the night, sharp and relentless. She staggered through the turmoil of the Boston Massacre, her heart racing as she called out for her mother, but her voice was lost in the deafening roar of terror.
"Mother!" she cried, desperation clawing at her throat.
Then, through the smoke, she saw her, her mother, standing alone in the middle of the street, her face frozen in sheer terror. The scene unfolded in agonizing slow motion as a soldier raised his musket, a cold resolve in his eyes.
"No!" Catherine screamed, but her voice was muffled, as if submerged in water. She tried to push through the panicked crowd, but they surged against her like an unstoppable tide, trapping her in their wake. There an hard hand grab her from behind causing her to be pulled back, it was Charles Lee, he held his pistol under her chin, before twitching the trigger-
The Irish teen jolted awake, gasping for breath as if she had just resurfaced from depths. The dimly lit walls of her room came into focus, and she realized with a shock that she wasn't in chaos anymore. A pair of soft, golden-brown eyes watch over her. They belong to Connor's concerned face loomed over her, his features etched with worry.
Confusion clouded her mind. Slobber coated her lips, and she felt as though she had just returned from another realm. The remnants of the nightmare clung to her, a heavy dread settled in her chest.
Connor's voice was soothing, steady. "Catherine, are you alright?"
She nodded, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I can't escape it," she whispered, the weight of the nightmare pressing down on her. An secret she held, the nightmares…she experienced them on the homestead, but they never disturbed anyone else. "I saw her… I couldn't save her. I was just standing there, helpless."
Connor shifted closer, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in a protective embrace. "You're safe now," he said softly, his tone a balm to her frayed nerves. "It's just a nightmare. You're here, with me." He paused, then added gently, "Let me get you some water."
He left the room for a moment, leaving Catherine alone in the dim light, the silence oppressive. When he returned, he carried a jug of cool water and a cup. With quiet care, he lifted the cup to her lips, urging her to drink.
The water lubricated her throat as she swallowed it. She felt as she never had water before in her life, the cool liquid wash down the dryness she was suffering from.
"Easy now," he murmured, watching her sip. "Take it slow."
Catherine closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the water as it cooled her throat and calmed her racing heart. When she finally lowered the cup, she met his eyes, her voice still shaky but steadier now. "Thank you... I didn't mean to wake you."
Connor set the cup down on the bedside table and smiled reassuringly. "It's alright…" He sat close to her on the bed, "I'm going to stay with you for the rest of the night."
A flush of embarrassment crept up Catherine's neck. The thought of sharing a bed, in her parents' bed, felt so out of place. As if sensing her discomfort, Connor acted. He reached for a spare pillow and tossed it onto the floor, along with a blanket.
"Connor, don't!" she protested, though she wasn't sure why.
"It's alright," he said, his voice gentle. "I've slept on worse."
Her stomach fluttered, anxiety mixing with an unexpected warmth. "We can share the bed," she said quietly, almost hesitantly. "If I have another... episode, you can catch me before I can fall off the bed, or something…."
Connor's gaze softened, a hint of affection in his eyes. "Alright then," he agreed, "but just so you know, I'm not letting you go anywhere."
He positioned himself on the bed next to her, maintaining a respectful distance while staying near enough to provide reassurance. His presence was soothing, offering a silent assurance of safety. As the silence continued, Catherine noticed her nightmares gradually diminishing, replaced by a sense of calm that only Connor's closeness could give.
In the stillness of the night, he draped his arm over her, an unspoken gesture of support. Catherine let herself relax into the warmth of his comfort, finally able to close her eyes without fear, knowing that with him nearby, the nightmare would remain just that nightmare. Catherine whole body relaxed against his chest, listening to his rhythmic sounds of his chest. The sense lulled her back to a peaceful dream.
The morning sun filtered through the windowpanes of the master bedroom. The light gently woke Catherine from her sleep. She wondered for a moment how early it was, as she had not yet heard the morning bells. As she stirred, the younger Cormac awoke to find her late-night companion's arm draped over her stomach, as if they were a couple. Connor was still peacefully asleep, his eyes closed with his long eye lashes shut. His face speckled in light freckles dotted his nose and cheeks, ones she never really noticed before.
Startled, she quickly sat up, causing him to stir beside her. A flush of embarrassment spread across her face as she realized the position they had found themselves in. The vulnerability of the moment left her uneasy, but when she glanced at Connor, still half-asleep and unaware, a small smile tugged at her lips despite her embarrassment.
She pushed her hair back with her fingers. "Uh... Good morning, Connor."
Connor blinked a few times, clearly disoriented. "Morning. How did you sleep?" He was completely unaware of their closeness.
"I—I slept well, thanks to you," Catherine said, rolling out of bed. She adjusted her bedclothes and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. "Um... I need to freshen up. I'll see you downstairs for breakfast."
Connor nodded, slowly rising from his spot before exiting the room.
After taking her time to get ready, Catherine donned her boots and pulled her coat over her shoulders. Her reflection in the mirror showed her in trousers, a white shirt, and a brown waistcoat. While unconventional for a woman, she knew she needed to be practical. She wrapped her mother's red shawl around her neck, feeling a mix of nostalgia and resolve. The dull sword she had found in the cellar months ago hung at her side. Hidden beneath her coat, the blade was a precaution she was glad to take.
Her heart raced as she practically leapt off the last step of the staircase. She spotted Connor at the bar, eating a light breakfast that he must have prepared while she was getting ready. The soft morning light filled the room, and she could hear Aries chirping eagerly, hopping around, a much more better lightness to his spirit.
"He seems ready to take off," she said with a smile, watching the bird flit about.
"I believe you're right," Connor replied, glancing up from his meal. "Maybe we should let him out. Aries might be ready to return to where he belongs."
"Agreed," Catherine said, her gaze falling to the sword at her hip. "What do you think of this?"
Connor eyed the sword with a critical look. It was old and probably needed some work, but it could hold its ground. "What is that?"
"It's an old sword I found in the cellar," she explained, deftly tying the sheathed blade to her belt. She was pleased it was easily concealed beneath her coat. "In case we need to fight."
"We should come up with a plan," Connor said seriously. "Maybe we can start digging for news of where my father has gone. After that, we should return to the homestead."
The Templars needed to be stopped at all costs, but Catherine's fear lingered. They wielded political power, had an extensive spy network, and outnumbered them. Most unsettling of all was her fear of her father. If she joined the Assassins, she would be stepping into the shoes of the very people he swore to hunt.
"Shall we go?" Connor asked, extending his arm for Aries to perch on. The bird didn't mind the talons digging into his coat. "Do you have an idea where we can start?"
Catherine thought for a moment. "I have a suspicion about where the Templars might meet in Boston."
Connor looked up at her, intrigued. "Where?"
"The Green Dragon Tavern," she replied, her mind flashing back to the time years ago when she had followed her father there. "I saw them gathered around a table. If I talk to Mrs. McKinzie, she might have information. Or maybe I can speak to James."
"It's a risk," Connor cautioned.
Catherine nodded, fully aware of the danger. Haytham could still be in Boston, and hanging around the Green Dragon was a gamble. "I need you to take the rooftops to be my eyes," she said, her voice steady despite her anxiety. "James can help us without drawing attention. If we can have him scope out the place, we can figure out a way to sneak in."
"Does he know?"
"No. He doesn't know anything about the Assassins or Templars, but he has a strong disdain for Haytham."
Connor considered her words, his expression serious. "Then let's make our way to your friend's place. The sooner we get there, the better."
Outside the tavern, Connor parted ways with Catherine. Aries finally spread his wings and soared into the bright morning sky. Catherine watched him fly for a moment, feeling a rush of exhilaration.
A moment of awe washed over her as she watched Aries take off with the sun on his back. His cry as he spread his wings was both inspiring and beautiful. Catherine smiled, feeling a bittersweet twinge at the sight of her friend flying away. Though when she expected hm to fly off to the horizon, Aries change direction.
To her surprise, Aries circled above them before swooping over her head. His gaze was fixed on her, as if telling her he would stay by her side. Connor had a faint smile at her, watching him coming back. Connor stood above her, watching her. She locked eye contract with him. He understood her in that moment, like now she truly understand what Achilles ment that they are partnership.
With a feeling of mutual understanding, Catherine took the lead, Connor following closely behind on the rooftops.
It had been decided that Connor would watch Catherine's back from above.
As Catherine walked through the streets of Boston, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. People naturally parted to make way for her as she moved through the crowd. She had only spent a brief time at the homestead, but the skills she'd learned made her feel almost invisible.
Aries soared overhead, following Connor, while Catherine weaved through the morning rush below. She took a familiar shortcut down a backstreet, aiming to reach James. Though she kept a mental note of Connor's position, she hadn't spotted him yet.
Something caused her to stop. An cold feeling, she hadn't felt since the night of the massacre.
A hissing voice in Catherine's mind urged her to turn around. Her instincts sharpened, and as her eyes scanned the narrow path ahead, she saw the shape of four men stepping into her way. The scene felt eerily familiar.
Where was Connor? The thought stirred anger and unease within her. Her gaze flicked from one man to the next. Mercenaries, no doubt, rough, hardened, and heavily armed. One of them held a burlap sack and rope, a clear sign that this wasn't a random encounter.
Her hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of the dull sword strapped to her hip as the leader of the group flashed a wicked grin. His cockney accent betrayed his English origins.
"Miss Cormac?" he called out, his voice dripping with mockery.
The man was tall and broad, built like a brute, with a long, thin nose that reminded Catherine of a rat. His almost comical nose hairs only added to his rodent-like appearance.
"What do you want?" Catherine snapped, her tone sharp and defiant. "I'm on my way to visit a friend. I don't have time for your nonsense."
"No nonsense here, sweetheart," the leader sneered. "Why don't you come with us quietly?"
Catherine's hand moved without thinking, drawing her sword with a swift motion, though the weapon was old and worn. It wasn't much, but it was all she had. "Make me," she growled.
The group burst into laughter at the sight of her rusted sword and the way she stood her ground. She knew she was outnumbered, but the sword training she'd received from Connor and Achilles would have to be enough.
"Hickey gave strict orders to bring you back alive," the leader said, cracking his knuckles, "but he didn't say in what condition."
Catherine's heart pounded in her chest as she scanned the rooftops, hoping for a glimpse of Connor. But there was no sign of him. Sweat began to bead on her palms as she tightened her grip on the sword.
"Connor," she muttered under her breath, "if you can get your arse down here, now would be a good time."
The men chuckled at her quiet plea. "Ain't nobody 'ere to help you, sweetheart."
Then, the thunder of hooves echoed through the alleyway. Before she could register what was happening, a man in a maroon coat leapt from the back of a charging horse, tackling the leader to the ground with bone-shattering force. The leader's eyes went wide with shock before the life drained from them. Catherine froze, her own eyes widening as she saw the gleam of a hidden blade, still slick with blood, gleaming in the sunlight.
This man was an Assassin.
Catherine watched in stunned silence as the Assassin moved with deadly grace. His movements were swift, fluid, like a devil dancing in battle. With lethal precision, he drew a rapier, its blade gleaming sharp, and the hilt adorned with intricate designs. In a blur of motion, he thrust the blade into the neck of the next man, who gurgled his final breath before crumpling to the ground. Without missing a beat, the Assassin grabbed another mercenary and slammed his head into the brick wall with force.
The final mercenary, the one holding the burlap sack and rope, dropped his items and turned to flee. He didn't get far. The Assassin, calm and methodical, raised his flintlock pistol. One clean shot rang out. The man collapsed to the ground, a pool of blood quickly spreading beneath him as the lead ball tore through his skull.
The Assassin took a moment to compose himself, sliding his rapier back into its scabbard and tucking his pistol into its holster. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing out any loose strands. His horse, startled by the gunshot, pawed the ground nervously. The man approached the animal with a soothing gesture, patting its neck before mounting it once again.
"We must hurry to my residence before the Templars' spies track us," he said, his tone steady but urgent.
Catherine carefully stepped over the fallen leader, careful not to step into the growing pool of blood beneath him. Her mind raced with questions. "Who are you?" she demanded, trying to steady herself after the violent confrontation.
The man, now seated on his horse, lowered his red hood, revealing strikingly sharp features. He extended his hand to her. "Charles Dorian,"