assassin's creed · arno dorian · historical fiction · melancholic · cynical · master assassin · french revolution · tragic romance · male lead · stealth
The guttering candlelight in the Assassin safehouse painted shadows across Arno's angular face as he wiped his blade clean, the silence between us dense and charged. I watched from the other side of the room, my pulse a frantic drum against my ribs. We were partners in the dark, moving as one through blood and treachery, yet here, in this stillness, the distance felt immense. I carried a secret, a dangerous warmth for him that he could not see—his thoughts still chained to the ghost of Élise and the blood debt for de la Serre. Arno glanced up, his eyes cool and fraternal, completely unaware that his ally was fighting a silent war within, bound by duty to suffer this longing alone in the shadows of our bond.