AN: So in the middle of planning this chapter I realized that Thomas would need a new name. D: It was a little annoying because I really liked his name, but then I realized he would interact with Thomas Hickey at some point and that would be too confusing. So instead of confusing you, his new name is James. This switches back to James' POV, after he was captured by Haytham and Connor. Enjoy, and sorry for the name change!

Almost double the length of the last chapter. Hope it's enough for you guys!

When James came to the first thing he noticed was how badly his head hurt. He groaned, lifting his head slowly. His neck was stiff and sore and he felt like absolute shit. A muffled voice called out to him.

"Oy! Quit yer moanin!"

He flinched away from the boot that kicked him roughly in the side. After a few moments of silence, he dared to open his eyes. If he had any hope of escape, he needed to assess the situation. His heart dropped when he realized there was something over his head, blocking his view of the room. The sack was thick and no light shone through it.

He struggled into a sitting position, biting his tongue when pain shot through his stiff muscles. He attempted to stretch his shoulders and move them out of their uncomfortable position, but they were tied tightly behind him around what felt like a wood pillar.

"Where am I?" He called out. "Who are you?"

The boot connected with his side again and James huffed sharply, gritting his teeth against the pain. A hand grabbed the sack and forced his head up roughly.

"Listen, boy. You don't ask the questions 'round 'ere. So shut yer mouth or I'll shut it for ya." The cool metal of a blade pressed against James' throat threateningly and he strained to get away from it.

A door banged open loudly somewhere to the left and the blade was withdrawn.

"Thomas, I hope you weren't planning on harming the prisoner."

"Oh, course not, 'aytham. I was just 'aving a bit of fun."

The sack on James' head was pulled off and he blinked painfully at the sudden sunlight streaming in from the window. The light was blocked and he looked up. He recognized the face before him and cringed away, not trying to hide his fear. He distracted himself by looking around the room. It looked like a forgotten storage room of some sort, with barrels and boxes strewn about.

Connor tossed the sack to the side and crouched down to the Assassin's level, peering at him. He looked genuinely curious. When James refused to turn towards him, the look was replaced with something downright menacing. Connor grinned darkly, flicking his wrist. The hidden blade slid out cleanly and he pressed it to James' neck.

"No need to be afraid, Assassin. We won't hurt you." He pressed the blade a bit harder, watching a thin trail of blood roll down his neck. "Well, we won't hurt you much."

James held his breath, refusing to move or react to Connor's goading. Connor's eyes narrowed and he moved to trail the blade along the man's face, suddenly cutting a line along his cheek. James cried out, jerking away.

Connor grinned, pleased, and wiped his blade on the Assassin's clothes before retracting it and standing. He walked over to Haytham, patting his shoulder. "He's all yours." Connor sat down on a barrel in the corner, sharpening his hidden blade absently.

Haytham smiled warmly, but it didn't reach his eyes. He strolled over to the prisoner, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

James scowled at him, eyes defiant. "I'll tell you nothing. You worthless Templars won't get a word out of me. I won't betray my brothers."

The Grand Master laughed humorlessly. "Foolish boy, we don't need information from you. We already know everything you could possibly tell us. Connor?"

He stopped sharpening his blade and grinned. "Your name is James Harvey. You're 20 years old. Your first run-in with the Assassins was when they helped you transport your father to a doctor because he was sick with small pox. Your father passed away and you ran to them, seeking shelter and a place among their ranks. Need I go on?" He stood up and walked over to the man. "We know quite a bit more than you think we do. Everything about your precious Brotherhood and its values. Every person from Achilles Davenport down to a lowly novice like yourself."

James' eyes widened for a moment. He quickly regained his composure and cleared his throat. "If you don't need information from me then why am I here? You obviously need me for something, or you would have killed me along with my mentor."

Haytham looked regretful. "Ah. Yes. Admittedly, I was aiming for you. The damned fool stepped in the way. He would have been much more beneficial to us. But no matter. We have you now, and they will come looking for you. As small as your little Brotherhood is, they can't afford to lose a member. Even someone like you. So we'll give them a tip. Let slip that we're keeping you here. They'll make a raid to try and save you and we will be waiting to take another prisoner. You may not know very much, but you make excellent bait."

With that said Haytham turned on his heel and walked towards the door. "Son, keep an eye on him. And while you're at it, check him for weapons. Thomas is not always careful with things like that. Take his robes, also." He continued out of the room, closing the door behind him.

James tried to calm himself. His heart was pounding erratically and he was beginning to panic. He would never be able to do anything unless he kept a steady head. He watched closely as Connor walked over to him, starting by taking off his boots. He tossed them aside to search later.

He inspected the Assassin robes thoughtfully. To take them off would require untying James, but of course that was a terrible idea. Connor settled for taking out his blade and tearing through the fabric cleanly, tugging it off of the man.

James watched in horror as the shredded robe was discarded next to his boots. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the rough hands patting him down. Connor pulled a single, small dagger from the waistband of his pants. He chuckled to himself and stood, stabbing the dagger into a wooden post on the other end of the room. Then he gathered up the robes and boots and sat back down on his barrel in the corner to inspect them.

James let his head drop. He was exhausted and fairly certain that this would be the last time he would get a good long time to rest. He tried to get comfortable against the post before giving up and succumbing to sleep.