Street lamps fill the evening air with smoke, the rooftops still warm from the sun's heat, and somewhere below, someone curses while racing a horse-drawn cart.

Haytham Kenway stands by a carriage, holding his hat. Or rather—he was holding his hat. Now, it's gone. He hears your laughter and the sound of footsteps on the roof of the nearest building.

"...Are you serious?"

He says wearily, looking up and sighing. And of course, he jumps after you. Because ever since he set foot on American soil, nothing has gone according to plan.