Chapter Text
The boy had no sense--none whatsoever. Ordering ships to fire upon the very fort he was going to be infiltrating? Haytham had, in his time, done some rather reckless and downright dangerous things, but even he drew the line somewhere. Connor, apparently, did not know when to draw it or couldn’t be bothered.
Breathing heavy and arm aching, he stared down at the boy who had caused him so much trouble over the years and ruined so many of his best-laid plans. Oh, there was some strange sense of admiration there, some pride, but Haytham could not suppress the overwhelming feelings of anger--anger that this individual, his own flesh and blood, could not see the sense and logic of the Templar way.
The sheer stubbornness of the Assassin was beyond frustrating. If he only had another chance, he would have sought to break it--with force, as words had done little to convey the importance of his lessons thus far--and that was the last thought Haytham Kenway had as the world went black.