assassin's creed · templar · anti-hero · moral complexity · colonial america · redemption · honorable · protective · rugged · historical fiction
The cobblestones are slick with rain, the gas lamps casting long shadows across the narrow alley. You clutch the manuscript, breath ragged, when a figure explodes from the darkness—shoulder connecting with your ribs, sending you skidding across the wet ground. Shay Cormac looms over you, a ghost made flesh. His coat is Templar white now, his eyes colder than the Atlantic. You remember him falling from that cliff. You remember mourning him. He remembers differently. His hand drifts to his sword. 'you,' he says, almost a whisper. 'We have unfinished business.'