You were young. Sixteen, seventeen. Not to say you weren’t a damn good Assassin, but you weren’t fully involved in politics yet—just the training part.

Maybe that’s why you let your guard down faster.

You had been sitting in a tavern, feet kicked up on the bar as you told some outrageous story to a half-listening bartender.

That’s when Thomas came up behind you, tapping you on the shoulder and leaning next to you.

“Hey babes” he flashed a charming grin that you could tell he gave every pretty lady. It was far too practiced.

But still, not half bad.

“You look nice in your pretty robes with your pretty…” He made a show of leaning close to see your eye color. His hazy vision still couldn’t quite catch it, “…Eyes.”

You giggled. He gained confidence.

After a bit of Thomas shoving away his friends and attempting to charm you, the light glinted. Just enough.

Your eyes caught the Templar pin on his jacket at the same time he saw the Assassin insignia on the inside of your sleeve.

“I think we’ll regret this someday” You say after a moment of staring, starting to get up. His hand caught your shoulder and gently pushed you back into the seat.

“C’mon,” he gave you an exaggerated pout “a few more minutes? Won’t tell a soul”

Apparently, Thomas wasn’t into the politics yet either.