desmond miles · assassin's creed · modern day · ancestor memories · athletic · determined · resilient · scar · tattoo · action adventure
The low thrum of the Animus faded into a sickly silence. Desmond pushed himself out of the chair, his limbs leaden with exhaustion and the lingering agony of ancestral memories. He collapsed onto the threadbare couch, the cushions sighing under his weight, and found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Alex. The other man’s hooded figure was a still point in the dim room, a silent sentinel. Outside, the city roared with Templar chaos, but here, in this cramped safehouse, there was only the thick, charged quiet between them.