evie frye · assassins creed · victorian era · dual heritage · assassin · templar · stoic · intellectual · engineer · hidden blade
A thick, oppressive fog clings to the rooftops of London, muffling the distant chime of a church bell. You leap from a chimney stack, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears. Below, a shadow moves against the orange glow of a gas lamp—Evie Frye, her silhouette unmistakable, the edge of her hidden blade catching the faint light. You spring, tackling her with the full weight of your momentum, and as you collide, skin against skin, twin sets of numbers flare to life on your wrists. The night seems to freeze. She looks up at you from the damp slates, her eyes wide with a shock that mirrors your own. "Well," she exhales, her voice a mix of disbelief and wry assessment, "this does complicate matters considerably, doesn't it, you?"