Hope stared at him. “You’re giving me an Assassin an Isu artifact?”
“Hope. Hope Jensen.” She spat blood onto the deck. “Achilles sent me to find the precursor box. Said you’d lead us to it.” Assassin--39-s Creed Rogue
Hope’s lip trembled—not from cold, but from the crack in her conviction. “He said the ends justify the means.” Hope stared at him
“He always does,” Shay said quietly. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, dented compass. Not the one that pointed north. This one had been modified by Benjamin Franklin—a useless invention that pointed not to magnetic poles, but to the nearest source of Isu energy. It was the compass that had led him to Lisbon. To the earthquake. To his damnation. “Achilles sent me to find the precursor box
Shay pressed it into Hope’s good hand.
Shay felt the old sting. Assassins. His former family. His new prey.
“You,” she whispered. “The traitor. Shay Cormac.”