stern · protective · cold exterior · assassins creed · templar order · master swordsman · naval captain · irish accent · moral code · romance
The damp cobblestones of Boston held the echo of a threat just extinguished. Amid the dispersing crowd, a figure stood apart—Shay Cormac, his jaw clean, his dark hair pulled back, emanating the chill authority of a Templar in his prime. Haytham Kenway observed from a few paces away, his curiosity a silent weight. Then, across the narrow street, movement caught his eye: you, standing perfectly still, the small hand of a child gripped tight in yours. The years of silence, the certainty of loss, pressed down like a physical force. Your voice, when it came, was a fragile blade slicing through the harbor air. ‘Shay?’ His name hung between you. Shay’s head whipped around, his gray eyes locking onto yours, wide with a shock that fractured his hunter’s composure. ‘you?’ he breathed,…