Chapter Text
“Welcome back, brother .”
Altaïr narrowed his eyes at the way Abbas called him ‘brother’.
Years ago, back when Altaïr was still naive and stupid, he would have found joy in hearing such a term from Abbas, of knowing that, regardless of the morbid connection their fathers' had shackled them with, they still considered each other friends.
Brothers.
Now, Abbas was using the kind dreams Altaïr’s child self had to mock him.
And Altaïr did not have the patience nor the desire to trade barbed words with him.
He was tired, his body was aching from having to ride since dawn, and he hadn’t had a good rest for…
Altaïr didn’t even know when he last slept and not woken up a few hours later, sweating and panting.
So he ignored Abbas and continued to make his way towards the fortress, paying no heed to Abbas’ shout of “Are you so eager to lick our master’s boots that you cannot even spare a few words to your brother ?!”
Altaïr felt his left hand twitch but he remained quiet, letting the torches lighting the road to the fortress guide him as the sky darkened.
One of the novices bowed as Altaïr passed him before continuing his task of lighting each torch before the sky truly darken, heralding the start of the evening.
It wasn’t long until he reached the fortress and he ignored the stares of the other recruits cleaning up the training ring. Rauf greeted him as well but he only grunted at him. The combat instructor simply chuckled at his rudeness, used to it by now.
Altaïr entered the castle and went up the stairs, ignoring the scholars all around the lower level, lighting candles encased in glasses or tidying up their desks. There was a time when he had been very young, that he had wished to be a scholar himself. Finding comfort in the many books Masyaf had to offer…
But that childhood wish, along with every other pathetic wish he ever had, died as he got older.
Just like Adha…
Altaïr shook his head slightly and made sure he kept his expression blank as he reached the mentor’s official office.
Everybody knew that Al Mualim had a private office on one of the upper floors in the east wing but he regularly used his official office. Some would say it was because he felt peace being with his brethren. Others would say it was because his official office had a clear view of the training ring below, letting him observe everyone who uses it.
Altaïr didn’t care which theory was the truth.
All he cared about was that this meant that he didn’t have to walk flights of stairs just to give his report.
“I have read the Rafiq’s report.” Al Mualim spoke first, as per usual. Altaïr simply stayed quiet as their master continued, “Splendid work, my child. With this, the last of Harash’s circle has been removed from this world.”
Al Mualim’s words brought him no joy.
He felt nothing.
Even though he knew that he had killed the last of the men who had a hand in Adha’s death, had even gone as far as to kill those who had helped those men.
The anger and irritation continued to swirl inside him.
“The council will be satisfied with this.” Al Mualim continued, “Your little ‘transgression’ last year has been forgiven, my boy.”
Of course, it should.
He spent a month traveling all over Levant and its neighboring kingdoms, searching for these men and taking their lives. All because the council wished to punish him for performing what was expected of him.
To rid the world of their enemies.
To avenge the dead.
This entire punishment was nothing more than to save their faces because Altaïr had done more for their Brotherhood than any of them ever did.
But those were words he could not say out loud.
Those were words that must forever be kept inside him.
Because the council has the power to make his life as an Assassin as unpleasant as possible.
They already did with this ‘little’ punishment of theirs.
This would be the first time in a month he had set foot in Masyaf.
“Thank you, master,” Altaïr stated in a monotone voice, making the old man stare at him.
A few years ago…
Maybe even a year ago…
Altaïr would have seen the concern in his eyes and his lips would have moved on their own, spilling his deepest problems and concerns to the man who had taken him in after his father’s death.
But the anger and irritation Altaïr felt were towards Al Mualim.
Towards the council.
Towards himself.
Towards the very Creed that laid as the guiding force of their Brotherhood.
Ever since Adha died, he felt as if he was drifting in the middle of the ocean. One wrong move and he will plummet to the uncaring depths.
Drowning with no way to save himself.
And no one to save him.
The silence stretched for a few minutes before Al Mualim finally sighed and nodded at him, “You are excuse, Altaïr. Take tomorrow to recuperate.”
“Thank you, master,” Altaïr said in a monotone voice as he bowed slightly.
He turned around and began to walk away but stopped when Al Mualim called out, “Altaïr.”
He turned to face the old man once more, waiting for him to speak. Al Mualim stared at his face for a moment before suggesting, “Sometimes, warm milk helps when sleep eludes us.”
“I do not have any problem sleeping, master.” Altaïr retorted, barely able to hold back the annoyance bubbling inside him for having to suffer through an old man’s unnecessary comments.
Al Mualim simply hummed and turned his attention back to the report in his hand, “Very well. You are dismissed, my boy. Be sure to eat dinner.”
Altaïr bowed at him before walking away, gritting his teeth tightly to stop the words that wished to pass by his lips.
‘I am not a child.’
To say such words would simply show that he was a child.
It was better to let Al Mualim call him whatever he wished.
Altaïr had no desire to keep talking to him.
The dining hall in the fortress was large, ready to house thousands of men all at the same time. Cooking was done by recruits and novices under the watchful eyes of old kitchen hands, most of them retired Assassins who could no longer take field missions.
Not because of their age but because of the injuries they sustained.
Altaïr should have simply gotten his dinner and eaten somewhere secluded, maybe on one of the roofs or perhaps even in his room.
Instead, he sat on one of the empty long benches in the dining room, eating his hot dinner quietly. The bread was still hot and fresh from the oven, most definitely having been delivered from the only baker in the village. The stuffings for the eggplants were cooked well enough. Altaïr could taste a bit of finely chopped meat in the rice and vegetable stuffing and it was seasoned quite well. Altaïr would have preferred more heat but his sense of taste was not shared by many of his brothers. He wondered if someone had gone on a hunt or if they had been offered the meat as some kind of gratitude from the villagers.
Still, it was delicious and Altaïr could feel himself relax a bit.
He only got as far as finishing half of his dinner when Abbas sat in front of him.
“I hear congratulations are in order. You have been forgiven by the council even though you do not deserve our leniency.” Abbas commented before he started to eat his own dinner.
Altaïr continued to eat, having been raised to not waste any food.
Even when the food tasted like ash in his mouth.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” Abbas goaded before taking another bite of his own stuffed eggplant.
Altaïr wondered if he could choke Abbas with his own dinner.
It wasn’t worth the trouble.
The brother in charge of the kitchens tonight was the same man who once smacked Altaïr and Malik on the back of the head with a ladle for throwing rotting vegetables at each other after they had a loud argument about when to put the meat into the stew.
They were forced to stand still as more rotting vegetables were thrown at their faces by their fellow novices.
Altaïr could still feel the slimy rotting zucchini that hit his hair. The feeling had been so disgusting that Altaïr had shaved his hair that very same day.
“Months of total silence, doing whatever you want for you believe you are above all the rules we have now that you are the youngest to be given the title of Master Assassin.” Abbas continued while Altaïr simply ate this food, only chewing enough to be sure he would not choke when he swallowed it.
“We all heard the rumors, of course. Of how you spent all those months chasing a woman-”
Altaïr stood as soon as his plate was clean. He grabbed his empty tray, narrowed eyes trained at the annoying man he used to think of as his closest most cherished friend.
“You said it yourself, Abbas.” Altaïr stated coldly, “The youngest ranked Master Assassin…”
“It would do you well to remember that when you open your mouth.” Altaïr warned before nodding as he dryly said, “Enjoy your dinner, brother .”
Altaïr walked away from Abbas without bothering to hear whatever drivel he thought of next, going to the front of the room to return the tray and cutlery to the open window that separated the kitchen from the dining hall.
“Oh! Welcome home, Altaïr!” Kadar’s innocent smile was a welcoming sight and the young man took the tray from Altaïr’s hand.
“Kadar.” Altaïr nodded at him before asking, “Do you have kitchen duties tonight?”
“Yes, I’m part of the final shift for today’s kitchen duties.” Kadar dropped the tray on the lower table in front of him before he placed both hands on the window sill. He leaned forward as he whispered, “If you ever get hungry during the night, I can slip another serving for you-”
“No extra servings!” The head chef shouted from deep inside the large kitchen, making Kadar flinch and Altaïr’s lips twitch.
“Good night, Kadar. Good luck with your shift.” Altaïr said with a fond shake of his head.
“Good night, Altaïr!” Kadar shouted back as Altaïr walked away, “I’ll see you in the training ring tomorrow?!”
Altaïr simply waved his hand without looking back, knowing the young man would understand that it was a ‘yes’.
“If you have time to talk to people, you have time sorting all the rotting vegetables from these boxes, Kadar!”
Altaïr chuckled softly as he heard Kadar groan and the laughter that erupted in the kitchen.
Yet, the moment he stepped out of the dining hall, his maudlin thoughts came rushing back, pushed even deeper by Abbas’ words.
Altaïr’s expression turned to stone and he made his way to his room, the whispers of his darkening thoughts accompanying him like ghosts tightly gripping his neck.
Altaïr’s room was small and bare save for a cot, a chest filled with his meager belongings, and a small table with a large ceramic bowl and a few pieces of fabric from Manf which he used for cleaning.
After taking off his dusty robes and using the water from the large ceramic bowl he had filled with water taken from the ever-flowing fountain in the inner courtyard to clean his body as he was too tired to use the public bathhouse in the fortress which would probably have some of his brothers there and may even talk to him, Altaïr tried to sleep in his cot.
He was soon driven to wake up by the feel of Adha’s blood dripping in his hands. As he tried to get his breathing back to normal, he could still hear the raspy words of Adha telling him it was his fault.
She was dead because of him.
Because he was too slow.
Too weak.
Too late.
Altaïr closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
That was not what happened.
Adha did not say such hurtful words.
She was too dead to say such things.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth.
That didn’t mean that her death was not Altaïr’s fault.
Once his breathing returned to normal and his heart didn’t feel like it was ready to leap out of his mouth, he sat and looked at the only window in his small room. The moon was bright and high up in the sky, signaling that it was still the middle of the night.
Altaïr rubbed his face.
Even if he tried, he would not be able to sleep anymore.
So he stood from his cot and grabbed a set of robes that had been in his chest for months now. They smelled fine anyway.
He took the time to prepare for the next morning, making sure all of his satchels were pinned to his belt without any problem, double-checking the buckles of his hidden blade, and even adjusting his red sash.
He was simply wasting time.
But it wasn’t like there was anything pressing he needed to do anyway.
He left his room and made his way towards the main castle once more, thinking of perhaps checking the books on the main floor for anything interesting enough to read until it was acceptable to train in the training ring.
It was while he was on his way to the main floor that he heard it.
A humming.
It was soft. Too soft to be actually be heard from where he was but, still…
He heard it.
It was like his senses had zeroed in on the sound.
He could barely see the figure sitting on one of the lower roofs that covered the corridors around the courtyard.
Curiosity propelled him to walk towards the humming, jumping off the open window and landing on the roof of the corridor. Altaïr froze when he heard the humming come to a halt the moment his feet landed.
He was trained to not make any sound and he knew for a fact that he did not make any sound at all yet…
The one humming turned to look straight at him.
Their eyes met and the moonlight was enough for Altaïr to see who had been humming.
But Altaïr was unsure…
The light gray cloak was familiar to Altaïr.
That was the same cloak the Flowers would wear when Masyaf grew cold for the usual thin outfit they wore that barely hid their bodies. Simple cloaks to battle the cold.
Then…
Altaïr was staring at one of the Flowers of Masyaf.
But…
The person in front of him wore a hood, light gray and made of such thin fabric it looked more like some kind of veil. Because of the thinness of the material, Altaïr could see the raggedly cut hair almost as short as Altaïr’s own hair.
Everything about this person made Altaïr question if what he was truly seeing was a Flower.
The face was more masculine without any of those pretty colors the Flowers liked to put on their faces. The only color on the face was the natural redness on the cheeks and nose, more of an indication of the coldness of the night than some kind of desire to look beautiful. Plump lips marred by cracks and…
A scar that was identical to Altaïr’s.
“Oh shit!”
Altaïr blinked, unsure of the words said but…
The voice.
It was deeper than any voices he had heard come from any Flower. A bit higher than most of his brothers and Altaïr himself but certainly deeper than…
A woman.
Altaïr frowned and took a step forward, wondering if getting close would help him identify this person full of contradiction.
“I mean!” The figure stood and fully faced him just as Altaïr stopped in front of…
Whoever they were.
For a brief moment, Altaïr’s eyes narrowed when he noticed that this person was taller than him but that thought disappeared when he heard…
“Uuuhhhh…” Eyes flickered down and head lowered for a moment before eyes raised to meet his, light-colored eyes reflecting the moon’s light, as hesitant words were uttered with the questioning tilt, “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”
Altaïr tilted his head as he grew more curious about the person in front of him.
Relaxed posture as if Altaïr was not a threat yet lowered head would have indicated some kind of respect or fear.
But those eyes stared at him with such a gaze that held no fear.
Only curiosity and…
… worry?
“Are you a Flower?” Altaïr asked in the same language that the person in front of him used.
English.
That was interesting all by itself.
Almost everyone that Altaïr knew that was foreign to these lands spoke either Latin or French. The Templars, in general, spoke French.
But this person was speaking English and it was a different kind of English than the one Altaïr had heard before.
“Um… I guess?”
A woman then.
Al Mualim would have never taken a man for a Flower, after all.
“I haven’t seen you before,” Altaïr stated as he stared at… her.
Altaïr frowned.
Something about calling the person in front of him ‘her’ felt strange but he didn’t understand why.
“Are you new here?” Altaïr asked, ignoring that uncomfortable feeling inside him.
“Huh? Um…” She rubbed the back of her neck, a strange movement that he hadn’t seen any woman make (but has seen some of his brothers make, including Kadar), “I guess? I mean… does two months still count as ‘new’?”
Altaïr blinked.
Two months ago?
Then he should have seen her when he returned to Masyaf a month ago to receive the council’s punishment.
That didn’t make sense.
“I visited Paradise a month ago.” Altaïr stated as he frowned, tilting his head once more as he added, “I don’t remember seeing you.”
The strangest part was… Altaïr was sure she wasn’t lying.
Every single part of Altaïr was telling him that she hasn’t lied to him at all.
“Ah.” Her eyes gleamed with realization before she looked down as the redness on her cheeks became more prominent. Her words were hesitant and a bit awkward as she spoke, “Yeah, you didn’t see me ‘cause I didn’t join them.”
“You…” Altaïr’s frown deepened as he repeated, “Didn’t join…”
For some reason, an annoying feeling sprouted inside him at the idea that a Flower did not join-
“You know…” She stared at him, seemingly unaffected by his unusual golden eyes, as she snarked, “The whole ‘oooohh, pick me’ thing that you guys do here?”
“I know what you mean.” Altaïr was unable to stop himself from snapping at her.
For a brief moment, his irritation was replaced by worry.
Worry that his words may have frightened her.
But that worry turned to confusion and relief when she simply stared at him with her light-colored eyes that seemed to glow under the moonlight.
She blinked before she started, “Are you…”
An unladylike snort escaped her lips and her lips curved into a big grin as she whispered, “Oh my god.”
Altaïr frowned, unsure of how to react now that she was praying to her god all of a sudden.
“Are you angry that I didn’t throw myself at you like the other girls?” She asked loudly, eyes twinkling with mirth and lips curved into a pretty smile that made Altaïr’s heart skip a beat.
“No!” Altaïr immediately answered as he felt his cheeks grow warm.
She laughed, a little too loud perhaps to be considered acceptable for a woman, but Altaïr could only focus on the mirth in her voice.
“You are!” She retorted, lips curving into a big grin as she teased, “Oh wow. That must really hurt your ego, huh?”
Normally, Altaïr would have felt annoyed by her words. Had Abbas been the one to say them, Altaïr would have already exchanged barbed words with him.
But…
The way she spoke.
There was no malice in any of her words.
Those eyes stared at him with mirth.
Why was his heart beating too fast right now?
That question made him frown and it seemed she misunderstood the expression on his face because she explained with a smile decorating her face, “It’s not you, Altaïr. It’s… well…”
She paused and rubbed the back of her neck again as she muttered under her breath, “Jesus, how do I explain this to a dude from the 12th century?”
Altaïr tilted his head once more, wondering if she was one of those religious people who liked to pray all the time, asking their god for guidance and such.
“I’m… uh…” Her mirth was replaced by awkwardness as she tried to explain, “I’m not… comfortable…”
She pulled the cloak around her tightly as she admitted in an almost soft tone, “… with my body.”
“What’s wrong with your body?” Altaïr asked, looking at her face. He didn’t notice the way her cheeks reddened even further when his eyes traveled down to look at the rest of her before they rose to meet her light-colored eyes as he said, “You look attractive enough.”
She stared at him for a few seconds before she repeated in a dry tone that reminded Altaïr of Malik’s tone whenever he believed Altaïr said something wrong, “Attractive enough.”
She repeatedly nodded her head slightly as she dryly commented, “Oh wow. High praise.”
Her tone was so dry as she said, “Thanks.”
“That’s not what I-” Altaïr sighed and looked away as he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to offend you…”
His frown deepened as he wondered why he was trying to defend himself from this Flower.
Why he didn’t want her to think ill of him.
Light-colored eyes stared at him for a moment before a fond smile appeared on her face. The teasing tone of her voice made Altaïr relax ever so slightly as she commented, “You’ve never tried charming anyone before, have you?”
“I have no need to charm anyone,” Altaïr answered as he frowned at her.
“Yeah…” She nodded before commenting, “‘Cause you can just intimidate them instead.”
The implication of her words made his eyes widen and he immediately defended himself, “That’s not what-”
He felt horrified and offended as he snapped, “I do not intimidate anyone to share a bed with me!”
Her own eyes widened and she stuttered, “Th-that’s not what I mean! Oh my god! No!”
She groaned and covered her face, her words muffled as she said, “We’re having two different conversations, oh man. I meant when you’re on a mission-”
“We do not sleep with anyone for a mission!” Altaïr shouted, actually horrified with what tall tales the Flowers speak about them when they were among their peers.
“Oh my god!” She squeaked and dropped her hands as she tried to explain, “I mean when you interrogate someone! I know Assassins don’t… well, I mean… at least, the Levantine Brotherhood doesn’t… shit.”
She groaned and covered her face once more, “Why are we talking about this?”
“I don’t know.” Altaïr rubbed his face as it felt too warm all of a sudden. He looked away as he mumbled, “You do not make sense.”
Altaïr froze, fearing that his words would offend her.
Instead, she simply chuckled and dropped her hands once more as she said, “Thanks, I know.”
His chest ached as he saw the sadness etched on her soft smile, “It’s kinda my whole deal now.”
Altaïr could not find any words to comfort her. For once, in his life, he was left…
Speechless.
It seemed she took his silence the wrong way and she sighed once more. She rubbed the back of her neck again, a move that Altaïr could now see showed how awkward she was feeling at the moment, and explained, “Look. The women here… They…”
She paused for a brief moment before continuing hesitantly, “Well… they want to, you know… have your favor…”
She frowned as she asked, most probably to herself, “I guess that would be the best word to describe it?”
“You mean they want me to pick them,” Altaïr said blandly, having already known about that.
Hard not to when they would all crowd around him and bat their eyelashes while giving him coy smiles and calling his name with an overly sultry voice of varying success.
“That’s part of it but, I guess you can say… Uhhhh…” She bit her bottom lip and Altaïr fought the desire to stop her. To use his thumb to gently push her lips apart as her teeth dug into her bottom lip with enough force to mark them. Altaïr stayed still, knowing it would be considered rude to touch a woman without her consent.
“They… well…” Her cheeks reddened as she explained, “They believe if you like any of them enough…”
The awkward expression on her face and the questioning tilt of her tone would have been adorable had it not been for the words she spoke next, “You’d take them as your wife?”
Altaïr grimaced at the idea of taking any of the women he had shared a bed with as his wife.
“Yeeeaaahhh.” She awkwardly said before asking, “You must have realized it, right?”
Altaïr kept quiet, not wishing to answer her.
His silence proved to do him no favor as her lips curved to a small grin. Her tone turned to a more teasing tone as she asked, “Oh my god. You don’t really think you’re so good in bed that they’re all throwing themselves at you just to get a good time, right?”
“Why would I care if they enjoy themselves? I come to Paradise for my own pleasure, not for theirs.” Altaïr snapped and he start to feel mortified as his mouth spoke the words he felt but didn’t want to tell her, unable to stop himself for the desire to talk to her was now greater than keeping his deepest thoughts inside him, wishing for her to hear them and still-
“Screw them if they don’t cum before you do, right?” She asked with the same teasing tone.
Hearing such a vulgar word come from her made Altaïr freeze as he suddenly felt heat travel downward.
She seemed to misunderstand his reaction (thankfully) as she gave him an awkward smile, “Yeeaaahh. They talk about that too. You’re, like, one of the most selfish assholes in Masyaf.”
Altaïr hid his mortification of what scandalous unflattering (but most probably truthful) things she had heard about him by glaring at her.
“But, well…” She shrugged as she added casually, “They’re also trying to curry your favor so it’s not like you owe them anything anyway.”
Altaïr warily nodded at that, already knowing…
“But…”
There it was.
“It’s just nice… you know?” She said awkwardly and Altaïr realized that she liked to use ‘you know’ more similar to someone saying ‘um’ or ‘aah’ than actually expecting Altaïr to answer her, “Helping your partners get off too is a nice thing to do?”
“Is that why you don’t… join in?” Altaïr asked, stopping himself from saying something embarrassing like telling her that he could be an attentive partner in bed if she asked.
…
No.
That sounded like he was trying to get her to share his bed.
Which she didn’t seem to want to do.
“Do you…” Altaïr paused once more, ignoring the first words he thought of, and asked instead, “Not want to curry my favor?”
‘Do you not want to be my wife?’
Just hearing those words he wanted to say in his mind and the actual words he spoke made him feel embarrassed.
“I don’t need anything from you, Altaïr.” She stated with a soft smile.
The pain in his chest was so surprising that Altaïr couldn’t help but frown.
“You don’t have to look so offended!” She hurriedly said, once more mistaking Altaïr’s expression. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her as she explained, “What I mean is that, well… we have nothing tying us together.”
Her voice cracked as she continued, “There’s no connection between us.”
She raised her head to stare at the nightly sky as she continued, “No… red string of fate. No blood connection…”
She lowered her head to stare back at Altaïr’s golden eyes as she said with finality, “We’re nothing to one another and I…”
“I… have a lot of shit to deal with right now concerning…” She waved her hand over up and down. Altaïr assumed the hand gesture was meant to be about how she feels about her body, “… that having sex with anyone, especially you, is something I’m absolutely not ready for.”
“Especially me,” Altaïr repeated, unable to stop the smirk that decorated his face.
She frowned at him as he said, “I’m special then? Special enough that you separated me from everybody else.”
Her eyes widened and the redness of her face deepened once more, “Oh my god.”
He leaned closed and whispered lowly, “You do want me.”
She let out a strange sound that reminded Altaïr of a mouse before she pushed him away gently. A grin appeared on her face as she said, “You sound like a child!”
“A child!” Altaïr spluttered, making her laugh and turn around.
She let out a yawn that was so big it looked ready to unhinge her jaw.
Altaïr never saw any woman yawn so openly.
And Altaïr felt his body's desire to yawn as well.
“Okay, I think talking to you actually relaxed me so much I can go back to sleep.” She admitted with a chuckle.
Surprisingly enough, Altaïr could say the same thing.
“Good night, Altaïr.” She whispered with a soft smile that made Altaïr momentarily forget that he could speak before she jumped off the roof and landed on the grassy ground of the courtyard, “You should get some sleep too.”
He quickly walked toward the edge of the room and called out, “Wait!”
She raised her head to stare at him as she tilted her head, “Hm?”
“Your name.” He demanded, freezing for a moment before he said in a softer tone, “You know my name but I… I don’t know yours.”
“Oh.” She looked at the grassy ground as she awkwardly said, “It’s, uh, Ma…”
She stopped and Altaïr tilted his head because he was pretty sure she just muttered ‘fuck it’ under her breath.
She raised her head and Altaïr felt his breath taken away from him without his consent.
For her eyes glistened with determination, sadness, and…
Hope.
“Desmond.” She said solemnly, “My name is Desmond Miles.”
“Desmond… Miles.” Altaïr repeated the name.
It sounded like a man’s name but…
It suited her.
She rubbed the back of her head as she added, “But, um, everyone calls me Maria.”
He tilted his head as he asked, “Why?”
“Because… it’s…” Desmond gave him a pinched expression as she explained, “It’s the name my parents gave me. Maria Thorpe…”
“But not the name you wish to have?” Altaïr asked curiously.
“Yeah.” Desmond nodded.
“The same way that is not the body you wish to have?” Altaïr added, making Desmond stare at him for a moment before groaning.
Desmond rubbed her face as she muttered, “This late in the evening is absolutely not the time to have this kind of conversation.”
Desmond began to walk away from Altaïr as she said, “Night, Altaïr. Try and get some sleep!”
“Wait-”
“Night!” Desmond cut him off and Altaïr was sure she just ran away from him.
… And he meant it in a literal sense as he just watched Desmond run away from him.
His lips curved into a small amused smile.
What a curious little thing.
Altaïr wouldn’t notice it but…
This would be the first night that his thoughts did not remind him of Adha’s death at all.