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Jacob let his fingers trace the firm edges of the envelope in his hand, unconsciously biting his lower lip in his confused state of thought.
He had no clue from whom the letter might be, as it neither was addressed nor signed, and he didn't dare to pry it open just yet. Surely, he was curious by nature, though the man got a feeling that he shouldn't festinate and rather read it in peace and quiet, hidden from his, also curious, twin sister and her oh so clever remarks. But just as other activities he would rather engage to, the letter would have to wait, sealed in the depth of his pocket because, despite all, he was a busy man and had places to be at.
So, Jacob only made a note in his head to remember that the paper rested in his jacket, weighting it down with all its mysteries, praying to not be forgotten like all the other papers did that the assassin received over time.
With a last pat against the pocket, he wiped a drop of rain from his cheek and moved towards the street to wait for the carriage he asked for, clueless and unaware of the letter's future importance.
