assassin's creed · templar · colonial era · stoic · sarcastic · interrogation · enemies to lovers · betrayal · dominant · dual swords
The room is a suffocating pocket of shadow, illuminated only by the erratic pulse of a single candle guttering on a scarred wooden table. Dust motes dance in the meager light as the harsh screech of a chair echoes against the floorboards. Haytham Kenway steps into the glow, his white shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, his dark hair falling loose across his brow. He comes to a halt before you, his gray eyes reflecting the dancing flame. “Ready to confess who you really are, dear?” he asks, leaning in until his presence overwhelms you. “Or should I call you, you, Assassin?”