My family's house was chaos. No one had answered the door when I knocked, so I had let myself in to see the frantic hurrying of Lydia about the house. She paused when she saw me. "Oh, good afternoon, darling."

"What happened?" I asked.

The usual peace of the house had been replaced with a mess: clothes lay strewn about the floor; chests of drawers hung open; I could hear Nadia in the kitchen, cooking something with vigour. And in the centre of it all, the eye of the storm, stood Lydia, with a half-open case in her hand. I could hear Meredith fumbling about upstairs, opening cupboards and rifling through wardrobes. My mother was either aware of this and paying no heed, or totally unaware at all.

It was not Lydia who answered me but Ryan, who came bounding into the hall and announced, in the largest voice he could muster, "I'm going to school!"

"School?" I repeated. "Where?"

"Virginia," said Lydia, and when she set the case down I could see that it was half-filled with Ryan's clothes. "We only just found out, and he's leaving in three days!"

Ryan was beaming up at me. I brushed his dark hair from his eyes. "But he's only four."

"I'll be five in a few months!" he protested.

"I know," said Lydia gently, more to me than to him. "But this school has a marvellous reputation, and his aunt (Gabriel's sister) lives in Virginia, too, should anything go wrong. And he is so looking forward to it."

"I'm going to learn Latin!" Ryan beamed up at me. "And Greek, and French, and mathematics, and classics, and. . ." His list went on. He would be attending this boarding school, I discovered, until he was sixteen - after that, he would decide if he wanted to study in a university.

Lydia was bursting with pride for him - after all, what mother wouldn't? - but when I looked at him all I saw was the baby I held in my arms; the toddler who couldn't pronounce my name. How had four years passed so quickly?

He was looking up at me with big, brown eyes, and he looked so hopeful that my heart twisted. Soon this little boy, who relied on his big sister, who saw the world with such bright eyes, would be gone, leaving me with a man who never needed anyone anyway. I would have turned time backwards in a heartbeat just to hold him again.

But we still had time before he grew up. I bent down and kissed his little nose. "Go and show me what you're packing."

*

As evening began to draw the shadows closer, the taverns and pubs grew louder with the crowds of workers off their shifts. The smells of beer and warm pies infused the narrow streets such that even the scrawny cats perched themselves on window sills, bathed in golden light, in the hopes that they might incite some pity and be given scraps of food. It was in one of these busy taverns that I met with Chapheau and Duncan. The two men were already sitting when I arrived, and they stood to greet me and to shake my hand.

"Cassandra." Chapheau beamed. "So glad you could make it."

"It's good to see you two again," I said as we sat. "How goes business?"

As a barmaid brought three cups to our table, Duncan said easily, "The workers are doing well, but we're having a little trouble finding the correct supplies for our next commission."

This was not new to me; the Templars had been lying low since Lexington. "Keep searching. I'm sure they have just been misplaced. Let me know how it goes for you."

My implication was clear: to remain vigilant and keep a sharp eye on all Templar activity. Where they moved in the city; who they spoke to; what they ate for breakfast; I wanted everything. The longer the Order stood, the more it threatened our Brotherhood, and everything we were fighting for. As Connor had said, their deaths, however unwilling we may be to commit them, were necessary.

I tried not to think about them too much. Thinking would allow me time to dwell on the morality of it all, and then the seeds of doubt would be sown. I could not afford to double-think every move we made; that would make me a liability.

I sipped the beer in my cup as Chapheau said, "It has been easier to watch the Scotsman since Lexington, but the others are still lying low." His smooth French accent was so at odds against Duncan's clipped Irish tones.

"Any word on New York?" I asked. Our first female recruit, an Irish woman by the name of Deborah Carter, had been stationed in that city to keep a close eye on affairs, as Hickey was said to have taken refuge there. It would seem that, after Johnson's death and the battle of Lexington, the Templars had scattered. There had to be a strategy behind that - they never did things out of fear. Connor and I would brainstorm ideas once I returned, I decided.

"Dobby's keeping an eye out," said Duncan, taking a casual swig from his cup. "She has nothing to report as of yet."

"Good." The last thing we needed in the aftermath of this battle was Thomas Hickey stirring matters on his end. As long as affairs in New York and Kenway's residence in Virginia remained quiet, we could focus our sights on Pitcairn alone.

"And what of Lee?" I asked.

Chapheau shook his head, and the shadows creasing his face deepened. "No word yet. But we hear that he owns a residence in Virginia, quite near to where Kenway does."

The thought of Kenway and Lee as neighbours was enough to make me chuckle into my cup. "We need to get eyes on that residence as soon as possible. I want you, Duncan, on that, starting early next week."

Duncan nodded. "Got it."

"And Connor would like you–" I addressed Chapheau– "to keep your ears open on the streets. Some soldiers deserted from Pitcairn after Lexington; watch out for them. They could be allies."

Once we had no more business to discuss, Duncan got us more drinks, and we talked about nothing as we drank. A warmth began to fill my veins as I laughed at a tale Duncan was spinning. It was utterly fictitious ("You haven't even seen a polar bear," cried Chapheau. "How could you possibly have fought one?") but it was funny nevertheless.

The pub grew busier, and the evening grew darker. A cold draught began to blow through the open door. It soon became apparent that the tavern had a resident cat, whose name I discovered was Dónal, and Chapheau very quickly became attached. Two drinks turned to three, and a fuzzy feeling pervaded my chest, like my heart had spilled warm blood into the cavity behind my ribs. It made me giggle.

When we eventually decided it was time for us to go home, the lamps of the city were lit with gentle golden flames, and the stars glistened in the sky above. I assured Duncan and Chapheau that it was not a long walk to my family's home and that I would need no escort.

I picked up my skirts so I would not track dirt on them as I walked. The streets had emptied themselves of people for the night, save for the occasional young couple tucked into the shadows between narrow alleyways. A patrol of redcoats passed me by, and I stepped aside to allow them passage.

It had been Achilles's wish to know every move made by the Templars, and I knew that Connor would be eagerly awaiting news of our progress. With Duncan relocated to Virginia, and Dobby in New York, we would need another pair of eyes in Boston. I trusted Chapheau to locate someone reliable for us.

Nicholas Biddle remained an issue for us, as we had no way to keep tabs on him while he was at sea; Connor hoped that the Assassins would have informants scattered through the cities, from Boston to South Carolina, by this time next year.

I paused beside a lamp-post so I could look into the sky, at the stars - and when I glanced behind me after a few long moments, I realised that Dónal, the dear cat of the pub, fat as butter and the colour of marmalade, had followed me. I called him to me and scooped him into my arms. 

I only managed to walk a few metres further when the marching steps of another patrol sounded behind me, and Dónal decided he wanted to be in my arms no longer. He clawed at my hand until I dropped him, and he scurried away. I hissed, "You bastard!" and gingerly touched the long scratches on my hand.

The soldiers passed by in a red cloud, but one pair of boots fell behind, and stopped. "Cassandra?"

It was Tobias. The scar on his cheek was harsh and stark against his fair skin. Only then, in this lighting, did I realise something: I was the one who had given him that scar. He had been there on the night of the Tea Party, and I had marked his face with a permanent brand; he would never forget me now.

"Good evening," I said.

He looked up at the sky, directing his face towards the moon. "Why are you out this late, all alone?"

"I met some friends," I said, "and now I'm going home."

His smile was dazzling. "Would you mind terribly if I walked you home? It is too dark to be alone."

His uncomplicated presence was a relief. "I would like that."

It was not far to my family's house, and we walked in a comfortable silence. An owl flew over our heads, and I stopped to watch it fly into the night, its pale wings beating against the darkness. As Tobias patiently waited for me, his mouth quirked with amusement.

I led him until I could see the silhouette of the house; an area of darkness that did not reflect the moonlight. The curtains had been drawn, the hearths extinguished. No movement broke through the reigning stillness save for the rustling of the trees and the occasional flutter of a night bird.

"This is me," I said, tone soft, afraid to pierce the silence with my words. We had stopped next to the perimeter fence that surrounded the front of the house, and I leaned my hand on the worn-down wood.

He hummed in acknowledgement. "It's a nice house," he said.

I nodded, quite suddenly unable to look away from him. His blond hair, or what I could see of it under his tricorne, was nearly white under the glow of the stars, his skin was a clear alabaster. The scar on his face was jagged, and I did not look away.

"How is your hand?" he asked, caressing my fingers gently between his own.

The scratches still stung, but they had stopped bleeding. "I'll live."

He smiled, then, and my breath snagged in my throat as he lowered his mouth to my hand and, one by one, kissed the wounds. 

The alcohol in my veins lent me courage. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything I reached up with one hand and drew his face down to mine, brushing my lips against his.

He stood very still for a moment, and I could feel his pulse at the base of his throat. In a dream, I wound my other hand up behind his neck, into that silvered hair, knocking his hat askew, and he began to kiss me back - slowly at first, like I had caught him off guard.

We stumbled for a moment, until my hips were pressed against the fence and he against me. Still, I pulled him closer, wrapped myself around him. My fingers tugged his blood-coloured coat, and I felt his heart beating in his chest, in time with my own. His breath was hot on my cheeks.

He trailed light kisses along my jaw, and I almost stopped breathing. His tongue was pushing into my mouth, his hands were on my hips, pulling me closer, and I wanted more. I wanted everything all at once - fire and brimstone.

It was my first kiss. It was everything I wanted it to be, and yet. . .

I found myself imagining it was with someone else.

I imagined, for a desperate moment that stretched aeons and aeons, that it was Connor.

As this one coherent thought cleared the clouds from my mind, I pulled away from Tobias, breathing ragged. I gently took his hands from my hips, brushing my thumb over a ring on his finger.

My first assumption was that he was married, but this ring was too wide to be a wedding band, and it sat on the wrong finger. He stood so close to me that his uneven breaths stirred my hair, and I was almost sure he was going to kiss me again - until his ring caught the glare of the moonlight, and that's when I saw it.

The unmistakable cross of the Templars branded that silver ring.

A haze of panic clouded my eyes, and I placed my hands on his chest. "Tobias," I said, my voice hoarse, and I felt him stiffen as he took a step back. "I can't. . . I'm sorry."

I slipped past him and stumbled up the path to the front door as quickly as my trembling legs would take me. When I glanced back, he was gone.

I could still taste him in my mouth, and I felt no shame in spitting into the grass before I went inside. As soon as I was in I sagged against the door, pressing my shaking hands to my face. What had I done?

I had crossed a line - one that I could never step over again. Now that my mind had summoned this fantasy of Connor, I felt as though I could not stop thinking of him. He was my best friend, my partner-in-crime, whose friendship I would for ever lose if I were to reveal this to him.

But I couldn't stop thinking about him. Tears slid down my cheeks. I had ruined things. I would never look at him the same way because it was him I wanted to kiss. I wanted to lavish all of my tender affections on him. I wanted to watch a fire slowly die while I sat beside him. I wanted to embrace him and look at the clouds with him and show him what it was to breathe stardust - because if this was love, I was drowning in it.

I wanted to kiss him, but more than that, I wanted to hold his hand and buy him flowers.

It terrified me. I sank down the door until I was sitting, crying into my hands. Tobias was a Templar. Connor was. . . Connor was everything I wanted, everything I longed for.

And I was so, so ruined.