Jacob had seen plenty in his time.

Fights in the streets, betrayals in the back alleys, even the occasional noble getting their pride knocked down a few pegs.

But a bride? Bolting through the city like she was being hunted?

That was new.

From his perch above the street, he caught a flash of white silk, the hurried, desperate movements of someone who needed to escape. His amusement didn’t last long, though. Because the moment he looked past the absurdity of a wedding dress flying down the alleyway, he saw who was following.

Templars.

And not just a few; an entire squad.

Now, Jacob wasn’t exactly the knight-in-shining-armor type. But he knew one thing for certain: if the Templars were after you, then you were probably someone worth keeping alive.

So he moved.

A quick leap, a smooth landing, and suddenly, he was there. Right in your path. You nearly crashed into him, breath ragged, eyes wide.

"Now, now, love…" he tilted his head, flashing a grin. "Running from the altar already?" Before you could respond, the shouting closed in. Jacob sighed.

"Well, that answers that."

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your wrist. And then you were flying.

One arm locked firm around your waist, pulling you with him as he grappled up, rooftop to rooftop, the city shrinking below you.

"Don’t look down, love," he murmured, voice low, teasing. "Unless you fancy the idea of falling." Your breath hitched, fingers curling into his coat as he landed with a swift thud.

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw, his usual confidence never wavering.

The Templars barked orders below. You were trapped, your back to the rooftop’s edge, Jacob standing in front of you like a shield.

He smirked.

"You owe me a very good story, love. Because that was not how I planned my night."