The Eagle and The Rat [Arno Victor Dorain]

XII - Dissimulé

Arno came up from the now-dead body, and though he had been shown a plot much larger than he could have ever imagined, he could not even consider the long journey ahead, because, beside him, Maxime looked down at the man he had just killed. "Le Roi des Thunes was-"

"An old acquaintance," she said, "don't dwell on it too much."

"Don't dwell on it?" he exclaimed, "you could have said something to me. I could have-"

"Not killed him?" she questioned, "you wanted revenge, didn't you?" She took in a deep breath, as she kneeled to the side of Roi. "First lesson of revenge: it's a small world." Her glove-less fingers ran up the side of his face, a feather-light touch closing Roi's eyelids for the last time.

"Max," Sylvestre called out, quickly making her snap from her trance with the dead body on the floor. He came to her side as she stood, not helping her up, but watching tentatively. "Your exit is clear."

"Thank you, Sylvestre."

"Anything for my dearest Master Bellec," he cooed as he bowed his head. Maxime only scoffed, the two already walking away. "Say, I've got a few hours before I'm expected to be back at work. It's a good night for a drink, is it not?"

"I don't drink."

"Well, for you to watch me drink," he corrected, "contrary to your belief, I do tire of being surrounded by Templars all day." He leaned in closer to her, dropping his voice. "Just an hour or two while this mayhem calms down. Consider it paying me back for this favor, Max."

It had been years since Sylvestre had asked anything of her, and truth be told, she wanted to give in. It was true; she felt sad for having helped kill the man who saved her, and she knew the only reason Sylvestre would ask to hang out was to make sure she was alright. Under all that flirting was still the Sylvestre she grew up with, the childhood friend she'd seen hell and caused hell with. Truth be told, she missed him and worried too.

When she looked behind her, Arno trailed quietly, his eyes laser-focused on the floor and the shadow of his hood covering the scar that went across the bump of his nose.

She knew better than to care, especially after yesterday. Still, Synnøve felt a pang of guilt for it all, as if she could have stopped any of this.

Out of the two options- going with Sylvestre and going with Arno- Maxime chose what she knew was best.

"You know better than to let sentiment interfere with our cause," she announced loud enough for Arno to hear, "the Templars will find it suspicious if there is a gap in your alibi."

"But-"

"But nothing," she finished, taking lead and picking up her pace, "I have a lot of fetch and carry work tomorrow anyway, and I still need to debrief the Council of tonight's outcome."

Sylvestre's eyes lost their glitter but remained wide and placid. "Kiss-ass."

Maxime stopped in her pace, making the two men almost crash into her. For a moment, she heavily considered lunging at Sylvestre. Yes, he was compassionate, but if Arno could understand that she did not want to be bothered after only knowing her for a few weeks, then why couldn't he?

She took in a deep breath, tightened her right bracers, ran her finger on the exposed part of the blade, and kept walking.

Saddened Assassins or not, her allegiance was to the Creed, and she would not falter. Not again.

Arno watched, as Sylvestre ran a hand through his wavy hair. Partially, he was pleased that Maxime had put him in his place as she did to himself so often. Primarily, he knew this was his punishment. She took the high ground on this issue, let him end a part of her history so that he could get some satisfaction, and though he now knew that the man who killed De La Serre was dead, he could only think of her.