The Conviction

Chapter 4 - Alexandre Lilou

As an assassin, packing was something that differed slightly from normal people. Instead of spare outfits, folded neatly in your bag, a random set of assassin robes was practically thrown into a bag, and to make matters worse, a few swords, knives, and even a pistol with a couple of magazines were thrown in on top. Matches went in the side pocket, and were right next to a  blonde wig, just in case things got tricky.

Frowning to herself, Ashley tore through her shared room, making a mess of things as they clattered to the floor. She tore books off shelves and even unmade her bed, frantically searching. As a glass of water hit the stone floor and shattered, an irritated and confused Sam walking inside the room.

"What're you-? Watch out!" Lunging for the snow globe before it hit the ground, she caught it, and glowered at her friend. "Do you know where I got this?" Ashley rolled her eyes and gave her a critical look. "No, of course you don't, why would you?"

She shrugged, before pulling open the drawer beneath the cabinet. "You might've told me about it when I was asleep." The younger girl admitted, looking up as she tore her eyes from the contents of that drawer. "Have you seen my whistle? The wolf whistle my father left me? The-"

"One from Connor Kenway?" Sam asked, giving her a disbelieving look. "Wolves are bad enough around here as it is! Do you really need to summon more?"

Scoffing, she slammed the drawer shut and stood slowly. "I'm not summoning any! It's just a form of communication in case I get captured." Sam crossed her arms and frowned. "It's more of a reminder than anything, Sammy."

The Persian strode over to her wardrobe, and opened a hidden compartment in the back of the drawer, pulling out a wooden wolf, howling at whatever moon there was. "Here," she threw it at her friend, who looked at her in surprise. "Just please don't sic one on a shopper again, okay?"

Ashley scoffed. "Relax! It was just that one time, and I didn't even mean for it to happen," putting the string around her neck, she bent over and sealed her bag. "I'm pretty sure I have everything," she muttered, instinctively placing her hand on the hilt of her blade, relaxing muscles she didn't know she'd tensed.

"Really?" Sam asked skeptically, giving her roommate an irritated look. "How about cleaning up this mess?"

"What mess— Oh. That mess," Shrugging, she snatched the sheets up and whipped the air, settling them down neatly as she pulled a few blankets and fluffed her pillows. Stifling a yawn, she tried to suppress it by covering her mouth with her hand, and barely managed to speak past it. "Do you mind getting the- woah."

The room was spotless, and she hadn't lifted a finger. "You're something else," the Master Assassin said slyly, giggling as she moved to embrace her best friend.

Samantha didn't even try to hide her concern, and she held back tears. "Don't get yourself killed out there, alright?"

She said nothing to comfort her friend, laughing off her warning. "We're Assassins remember? We do the killing!" Master Dorian hurried down the corridor, greeting the many members of the old order and smiling as she went along.

"Hey, Ashley!" A younger trainee cheered, waving as the jogging woman passed him.

An older man, maybe in his thirties, grinned as she passed by him. "Good luck to you, Dorian!" He said calmly, strolling casually. "I hope to meet with you upon your return."

"See you when you get back!" Scott called, leaning in his doorway along with his friend, Raymond Proxmire, who watched her silently, offering a rare smirk in her general direction. He obviously felt like it was a good day to be a jerk.

"I'm going to beat your sorry butt in our next sparring match a few weeks from now!" Another of her brothers in arms declared, but she just laughed, waving them off, shaking her head.