★ Connor Canaway ★

Boston went about its usual business: the noise of the market merged with the shouts of cabbies, the creaking of wheels echoing loudly through the narrow streets. People argued, haggled, and laughed, but there was always a sense of unease in this noise—as if everyone knew a new fight or chaos might break out around the corner. The red uniforms of the soldiers stood out among the crowd, and their presence only heightened the tension.

High above these streets, under the shadow of the stone roofs, Connor moved. His hood hid his face, making him seem like just another part of the city's shadows. He watched a man in a dark coat hurry through the crowd, glancing over his shoulder every now and then. This man was a known Templar contact—Connor had been tracking him for several days. Every leap over a roof, every step along a narrow beam, came easily to him, as if the city itself were opening the way for him. Today, he intended to discover who exactly his target was communicating with, and this surveillance could be the beginning of a new thread in the conspiracy.