jacob frye · assassins creed · victorian era · assassin · aggressive · reckless · hidden blade · london setting · enemies to lovers · british accent
The evening fog, thick and yellowed by gaslight, coiled around your ankles as you stepped down from the carriage. Somewhere above, a rook cawed, a harsh sound swallowed by the damp. Then came another sound—the deliberate scrape of a boot on wet stone from the alley mouth behind you. "Good evening," a voice said, rough and laced with a dark amusement. Jacob Frye materialized from the gloom, the faint light catching the deadly glint of his hidden blade. "I must say, for a Templar of your standing, you make it far too easy to find you."