AC Syndicate: Isolated Files [OS]

Grateful

[Text written for the 'Story' Codextober theme. 30.10.2024 — Highly inspired by 'More Than Anything' by Hazbin Hotel]

It was here, then. In an old flat in Whitechapel, not far from the station, lived Jacob Frye. A hooded woman was looking at the building, her face fairly neutral. But behind it lay a great deal of apprehension. Beyond the reputation that preceded him and his sister, he was not just anyone to the sixteen-year-old woman. Jacob Frye was her father. She had never really seen him, apart from a few rare photos that her mother had. She had told her so many things about him. It was as if she'd known him all her life. Somewhere along the line, she had always dreamt of meeting him... and hearing him talk about his exploits on his own while he gave her advice on being an Assassin. After all, she had been in the Brotherhood for a year.

And now, on a mission to Cardiff that she couldn't manage without her mother — who was badly injured and would have a long recovery — so on her advice, here she was, in one of the shitholes of Whitechapel. She hoped that the rumours she had heard were false. In fact, Jacob delegated a lot of the running of the Brotherhood in London — in fact, the Rooks hardly existed any more. He was less present in the headquarters that had become Kenway Manor, almost absent from the field. He was just going through a difficult period. He missed his sister, Jack had been missing for months and was worried about him. He was alone, his wife dead, and his children he hadn't seen for a long time. Not to mention the Fryes' friend, whom he hadn't seen in almost seventeen years. Solitude didn't suit him, and he couldn't adapt.

After swallowing, the brunette finally dared to knock on the door. But there was no answer. After a second, futile attempt, she tried to open the door. She didn't really like entering without an invitation, but it was the only way she could talk to him and ask for his help. She arrived in the living room, which was a bit of a mess. Paper, with the curls of letters scribbled on it, littered the floor. They looked like they had been torn out of a diary. Despite her eyes on the floor, she didn't bother to pick up any of the written pages and read them. They could have been thoughts, failed letters he hadn't dared send. Which explained the smell of withdrawal and alcohol. Right in front of her, Jacob seemed to be asleep, slumped over his desk, pen in hand.

Close to him, she dared to lean over his shoulder, driven by curiosity. She could read how much he missed Victoria — the young Assassin's mother — and that he would so like to see her again. She came across the name Evie. No doubt, it was Jacob Frye. Or at least, what was left of him. A jolt made her flinch and take a step back. She immediately stood on guard, both fists in front of her, forearms crossed.

– Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?

– The door was open,' replied the young woman, lowering her guard slightly. I've come on behalf of my mother. I need your help.

– You'll have to find someone else,' he said, turning his back on her. I've got a busy schedule,' he pretexted, tidying up the mess on his desk.

– That's not what they say in London,' she retorted, adopting a neutral stance. In fact, it's quite the opposite. And I don't think tidying up your hovel takes up that much of your time,' she added sarcastically.

– Tsss... You sound just like my sister.

– If only I'd known her. Unfortunately, she's still in India.

Intrigued by her words, he turned around, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squinting. Did she know because the rumours were about Evie, or had someone told her? Then, as he watched her, he realised that her face was familiar. The brunette said nothing, holding her father's gaze despite his nervousness. He walked slowly towards her, his head tilted slightly to one side.