Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

one: Jacob

London

March 1868

Jacob Frye was having a shit day. 

One: he woke with what he could only describe as the most excruciating hangover in his life; and his sister’s earlier lecture did not help it either.

(in fact, it only made it worse.)

Two: he had his pockets picked by some urchins while on his way to his target’s lavish home. Now he was a few pounds light and more irritated than before. 

Three: he was irrefutably and utterly bored. 

Picking at the dirt and grime caked under his nails, Jacob watched the Danburys depart with their coach less than twenty minutes ago, and one of the maids shortly after. When he deemed the coast was clear, he knew he had to find a suitable entry point and get inside. He leaned against the brick wall of the alley he had made his spot, his eyes flicking up to the second story of the brick home. The window to the study was dark—and then it wasn’t. 

Jacob straightened his posture, pushing away from the wall. His eyes continued to watch the light glow through the sheer curtains, brows furrowing. Someone else was in the house. But the Danburys were gone and so was their staff. To his knowledge, no one should be in the house. He watched the window a little longer, waiting to see if something or someone would pass by the curtains. And then he saw it. Movement. A shrouded figure mulling around the study.  

Jacob’s brows immediately turned down into a frown. 

The Danbury's were being robbed. Ah, this day just kept getting better and better. 

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Well, the Danburys were not going to be robbed. No, not on his watch. He had too much at stake for someone to ruin this for him. 

Jacob scrambled around the corner, skidding to a halt to stand in front of the west wall of one Lord and Lady Hugo Danbury’s lavish, stately home. He adjusted his rope launcher and activated it, watching the line shoot upward and over the roof’s edge before catching the lip of it. He gave the line an experimental tug before he began scaling the brick wall of the mansion, nearly slipping a few times because of the heavy rain. 

A crack of thunder rumbled above him, followed by a flash of lightning that scattered its way across the growing clouds. He grumbled under his breath, cursing the storm that enveloped him. He blinked several times, attempting to clear his vision as he heaved himself over the roof’s edge and landed in a growing rain puddle. He could feel the cold seeping into his boots, sending a sharp shiver up his spine. He shuddered, shaking the cold from his body and moved around to one of the known unlocked balconies: the lady of the house, Victoria Danbury. 

Jacob had spotted her from time to time on the balcony, dressed in her warm nightgown, and staring up at the stars. Her husband would call her back inside, protesting against the cold. And after a brief while on the balcony, she would return to bed, either leaving it open or unlocked. 

And this was Jacob’s ticket into the home. 

He hopped down from the roof and landed outside the balcony’s glass windows. He tested the windows, finding them to be unlocked— just as he had suspected. Grinning, he pushed the windows open and slipped inside, out of the raging storm and into the cold, seemingly barren room of Lady Danbury. 

He carefully snuck out of the room, almost tip-toeing down the hall and to the door that led into the study. He dug into his pockets and retrieved his lock picks. He knelt down and worked on picking the lock, chewing on his bottom lip to occupy his mind. Within seconds there was a familiar click and the study’s door was unlocked. He stowed the picks away and ejected his hidden blade, carefully pushing the door open to slip inside. 

Danbury’s study was just as he expected it to be. Vaulted ceilings, walls lined with books, a rolling ladder, imported leather and velvet furniture, and a large desk where a figure sat—but it was not Lord Danbury. 

"Looking for something?" he called out. 

The figure startled, their clumsy fingers nearly knocking over the inkwell that sat on the desk. They immediately stood up, their gloved fingers curling around a small pile of papers. 

Jacob could only assume these were the letters Greenie had been so eager to have him retrieve. 

"Who the bloody hell are you?" the figure hissed. 

"I could ask you the same thing, but seeing as we’re likely after the same thing, I suggest you drop those papers if you don’t want a bullet in your skull,” Jacob drawled, cocking back his revolver. 

“Death threats already? I was hoping we could get to know each other,” the thief said.

“Can’t be too careful. Now, hands up.” 

Sighing dramatically, the shrouded individual slowly held up their hands, papers still clutching between their fingers, and lifted their head. 

“Drop the papers,” Jacob ordered. 

“Not on your life.” 

In the dim light of the study, Jacob could not make out features as the thief had made the choice to disguise themselves with a charcoal gray cloth obscuring the lower portion of their face. A mask. Jacob couldn't help but snort. How original. He did not know whether or not they were male or female, but from what he could deduce, they were young. Likely not much older than himself.

He walked closer to them, his revolver still trained on them. He whistled, gesturing for the thief to stand-and reluctantly, they did. 

“Now, I’m going to ask again, who are you?”

“No one you need to know,” the thief responded, their voice muffled behind the cloth. 

Jacob snorted. “That’s rich coming from a thief.” 

The thief’s head cocked to the side. They gestured to their current surroundings with an air of arrogance about them. “Are you not also trespassing this home?”

Jacob’s brows shot up to his forehead. He scowled, his finger itching to pull the trigger of his revolver. 

“The balcony was unlocked; not exactly what I’d call trespassing,” Jacob gestured to the thief. “Besides, I saw the light and I was just a concerned citizen stopping by to see what was going on. And to my surprise, I found you.”

“A concerned citizen?” the thief scoffed. “I doubt that.”

“Alright, how’d you get in?” 

“The back door was unlocked,” the thief answered with a shrug of their shoulders. “Did you know the Danbury's have the most adorable dog? He loves these little biscuits and I just happen to have some in my pocket.”

Jacob scowled again. How could he forget about the damned dog? He had watched the Danbury's take said dog on strolls through the neighborhood. But it mattered not. With the dog distracted, he could continue with his search. And hopefully, as long as the thief cooperated, they would not make so much noise and alert the little mongrel. And the rest of the neighborhood. 

“Alright mate, just hand over the letters and I’ll let you live,” he said, holding out his hand. 

“Or I could just burn them and then we both don’t get what we want,” the thief said. “Sound fair?”

“You’re bluffing.”

One of the thief’s brows arched, as if testing Jacob. “How can you be so sure?” 

“Because you want the letters too, and I don’t think you’d be that stupid to burn them just for my sake.” 

The thief huffed. 

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. But I also know that you won’t shoot me because you know that one of Lord Danbury’s neighbors happens to be deputy commissioner to Scotland Yard,” the thief stated. “And the second you fire that revolver, he’ll be here, you’ll be arrested, and I’ll be hailed as a… how did you put it, 'a concerned citizen who just happened to be in the neighborhood'?”

That bastard.

Jacob ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, seething and blood boiling. He really did hate it when he was wrong. He took his finger off the trigger and uncocked the revolver. He slipped it back into his waistband, glaring at the thief. 

“Fine. You obviously want to do this the old fashioned way. So, should we settle this like gentlemen?” he offered, raising his fists. 

The thief laughed and mirrored his position, crouching down low like a fox. 

“Gladly.”

A beat passed between them—and then Jacob surged forward. The thief was quick, darting out of the way and spinning on their heel before Jacob snagged them by the sleeve of their shirt and pulled. The thief stumbled back, colliding hard with Jacob’s chest, their fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Just a slight shift of his hips and Jacob puffed out a breath as the thief struggled in his grasp.

Up this close, Jacob made a note to take in every detail he could regarding the thief’s eyes. Almond-shaped. A dark forest green, so dark they were almost the color of emeralds. Jacob was stunned for a second. Despite their intentions, this was a considerably attractive person—well, for a thief. Their skin was tanned, almost like Greenie’s but a shade or two lighter. And then there was a tiny mark in the corner of their left eye. A beauty mark of some kind. 

“At least offer me a drink first,” Jacob snickered, turning up the charm. 

Eyes flashing with anger, the thief grabbed Jacob by the shoulders and yanked him down, driving their knee into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He coughed and sputtered, his stomach throbbed with pain. With a guttural snarl, Jacob twisted his body to swipe his leg out, catching the thief by the ankle, sending them careening to the ground. The thief landed hard on their back, the hood of their cloak falling back to revealing ink-black hair, cropped short and curly. 

“Are you going to tell me who you are?” Jacob said. 

The thief laughed, shaking their head, inky-black curls bouncing. “Not a chance in hell,” they responded. Jacob stepped up to pin the thief to the ground but then from downstairs, the Danbury’s dog began barking-loud and on alert. Both Jacob and the thief he was wrestling with cursed.

“Shit!”

“Damnit!”

Jacob looked down at the thief, pinning them harder to the floor. “That rat will get us caught,” he snapped.

“Oscar is not a rat,” the thief protested, attempting to buck his hips into his and knock him off. "The only rat I see is you."

“Not the worst thing someone has called me.” 

With an aggravated shout, the thief slammed his head into Jacob’s chin, forcing him to relinquish his grip on their wrists. His teeth rattled and head spun. Jacob reached for the thief but they were quick and agile. They managed to knock him backward, forcing him to the ground. His head hit the carpet hard, his vision sparking with stars. He groaned as he laid there, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. The thief’s boot came to rest on his stomach—any lower and he would be singing a much different tune. He could almost feel the thief’s cock-sure grin through the cloth. His gaze flicked up to meet the forest green eye’s belonging to the thief and then down at the boot.

They wouldn’t.

“Get your boot off my - ” Jacob’s words were cut off as the heel of the thief’s boot pressed down hard onto his crotch. He sucked in a deep breath, a choked sound nearly escaping past his lips. He forced himself not to whimper as the thief’s heel pressed down just ever so slightly.

“Now, now, I hardly think you are in any position to negotiate, good sir,” the thief chuckled, breathless. Their chest moved up and down as they calmed their breathing. They brushed their curls back, cocking their head to the side. “Answer my questions and I might let you and your bruised ego go.” 

“ Bastard,” Jacob hissed through gritted teeth. 

The thief leaned down, heel of their boot still digging into Jacob’s crotch. 

“Now that wasn’t very nice. Shall we try this again?” 

Jacob cursed again, his anger and frustration building and bubbling under his skin. He glared daggers at the thief, scowling. He did not have to see the thief smiling down at him—he could feel it. 

“Fine. Ask your damn questions.” 

“Thank you. Now, first question, why are you here?” the thief asked. 

“None of your fucking business,” Jacob retorted. 

The thief pressed their boot down again, and Jacob fought back another cry of protest. He gritted his teeth, seething. He puffed out a harsh breath and then spat out with a sarcastic bite, “Looking for something of great importance.”

“Did Emerson Worth send you?” 

Jacob’s brows scrunched up. “Who?”

“Never mind that.” 

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking down to his bracer. His fingers itched to trigger his blade. One quick, deliberate and well-aimed stab to the thief’s ankle would catch them off guard and force them to their knees. Then he could stab them once in the jugular and be done. Then he could get the papers Greenie so desperately wanted and get out without a scratch on him. Maybe some blood but such was life. 

“Now you’ve got me curious…” he said, trailing off. 

“Oh do shut up.”

“Make me.”

The thief glared at him again and pressed down their boot—much harder this time. A stifled whine breached his lips and came out sounding pathetic and pained. 

The thief cocked their head to the side, their brows furrowing in puzzlement. “Are you sure you want to keep playing this game? You won’t win. And it’s unlikely Worth sent you. You don’t look like any of the men he’s sent before. Too scruffy-looking. Not to mention you do smell like you just crawled out of a pub.” 

“Scruffy?” Jacob growled, lips pulled back into a grimace. He scowled at the thief. “I suppose that’s your way of complimenting my roguish good look

“I wouldn’t flatter yourself,” the thief replied.  

Jacob snorted. 

“Well aren’t you just a fucking delightful person.” 

He pondered over his current predicament. He was at a disadvantage. The thief had the letters, had him pinned by their boot, and he could not risk exposing himself. He heaved a sigh. He knew what he had to do if he was going to get out of this house alive.

I hope these letters weren’t too important, Evie.

Jacob bit down on the inside of his cheek and knocked his leg hard into the back of the thief’s knee, forcing them to plummet forward and onto him. Jacob quickly dug for the letters and snatched them out before shoving the thief aside and making his way for the lit candle on the desk. Regardless of what the thief desired out of those letters, he could not let them get away with them either. He held the letters over the flickering flame just as the thief let out a shocked cry. 

“NO!”

The letters were quickly engulfed and Jacob made sure to stamp them out with his boot. 

“Now we both don’t get what we want,” he said.

The thief’s eyes glared at him—and for a moment Jacob could have sworn he saw tears. He took a cautious step back, reaching for his revolver again. 

Whatever he had done, he was in for it now. 

“ You are going to regret that,” the thief said, their tone like venom. Their eyes darted to the desk.

Jacob tracked their gaze and like a punch to the stomach, he quickly caught on what the thief was about to do. His own eyes widened as he whipped out his revolver, cocked it again, and fired — just as the thief spun around, ripping the cloth from their mouth and smothering out the light they’d been using before. 

And now Jacob was in pitch darkness with a thief who was desperate for those letters… the very same ones he had just burned. 

Bollocks. 

Jacob tensed. The dying embers of the fire crackled, and in the rumbling thunder and steady rain, there was a flash of lightning. And the thief standing just feet from him with a knife resting in their palm.

He had only seconds to react, ducking out of the way as the thief threw the knife towards him and then bull rushed him. He managed to dodge the knife before it buried itself into the column next to his head. The thief collided with him, sending him backward and into one of the bookcases. The second his back hit the bookcase, it rattled and dozens of books toppled from a great height, nearly smacking him on the head. Jacob cursed as the thief rushed out the open door. He snatched up the knife, tucked it into his boot, and gave chase. 

The pair dashed down the hall and towards the bedroom where Jacob had first entered from. And as he skidded inside, the thief was already in the process of climbing, and slipping, out the balcony’s window. Grunting, Jacob cocked back his revolver again and took off after the thief. But with the distraction of a knife being thrown at his face, the thief had a head start over Jacob, and by the time he reached the roof the thief was already a dozen yards away and making a beeline for another rooftop.

Jacob cocked his revolver, lifted his arm, aimed, and pulled the trigger. His arm jerked back from the recoil. The bullet spun out of the chamber and struck its mark—right in the retreating thief’s shoulder. The thief stumbled forward with a pained cry but they did not fall; they continued to run across the rooftop. Cursing, Jacob raised his revolver again to aim and fire but lowered his arm. The thief was too far now and whatever they were after was now burnt to a crisp on the floor of Lord Danbury’s study.

“ Damnit,” he swore. He holstered his revolver and glanced back in the direction of the Danbury home. There was no sense in salvaging this mission; he would just have to return back to his sister and Greenie empty-handed.

Evie was going to enjoy rubbing this in his face. 

Jacob’s retreat from the Danbury home had to be quick. As the thief had said earlier, the sound of gunfire would have woken the neighbors and he knew that he had only a short window to properly execute his escape. Which meant climbing down a slippery wall and not hitting the ground. And when he managed to sneak away into the alley he had made his post earlier, doors began to open and disgruntled neighbors began to stir from inside their homes. For now, Jacob was safe but empty-handed. 

Drawing his hood over his head, Jacob found his walk to the train car to be a long and lonely one. He spent his time going over what went wrong and how he could properly explain it to Evie without her scolding him like Father did. According to their Father, she looked like their mother, but she was a spitting image of their Father’s personality. Her brows even scrunched up the same way their Father’s did when he was cross with them. 

Seems like a lifetime ago, he mused as he strolled the streets with rain pelting his coat. 

And as he approached his destination, he only hoped his sister was asleep at this hour, but found that to be unlikely. Evie had the habit of staying up late and pouring over Greenie’s limited collection of books, maps, and other artifacts that had taken up residence in their modest accommodations. He noted the flickering of a lamp light as he hopped up to the door and pushed his way inside. 

He barely made it through the threshold when his sister’s voice reached his ears…

“You look like a drowned rat,” Evie spoke, a soft smile gracing her lips. "It’s an interesting look for you."

“Oh shut up,” Jacob sneered back at her. He walked on, the slopping sounds of his rain-soaked frame echoing in the cramped compartment of their train car. He shucked off his jacket and kicked off his boots, groaning and grumbling as he flopped onto the chaise lounge. 

“How did things go with the Danburys?” Evie asked. 

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Jacob muttered. 

“Ooh, that terrible?” 

Jacob draped one arm over his face, sinking lower and lower into the chaise lounge. He mumbled a series of curses under his breath, ignoring his sister’s taunts and teases. He heard her heave a sigh—and he did not have to look to know that she was shaking her head at him.

“Did you at least get what Henry asked?” she asked.

“No, I did not get what Greenie asked,” Jacob recited. He lifted a hand and made a gesture akin to something going up in smoke. 

“Jacob,” Evie groaned. She lowered her book and closed it. She stood up from her chair and walked over to Jacob, book still in hand. She smacked him hard in the shoulder with said book, forcing a cry from his lips. “We needed those letters!” 

“Someone got to them before I did!” he protested, rubbing at the now sore spot on his shoulder. “I had to burn the letters.”

Evie raised the book to strike him again but then a puzzled look crossed her face. She slowly lowered her book, arching a brow. 

“Wait, someone else was there?” she said. “In the Danbury house?” 

Jacob nodded and sat up from the chaise lounge. He rubbed at his sore shoulder again and rotated it, a dreadful ache shot through his body, causing his back to go rigid. He groaned as he twisted his back, a satisfying crack reached his ears. 

“A thief,” Jacob said. “And a very good one. Nearly took my eye out with a knife.”

“A Templar?” Evie asked. 

“No, not a Templar. And before you even ask, they weren’t an Assassin either.” 

“Are you sure?”

Jacob nodded. “They asked if I worked for someone named Emerson Worth.”

Evie’s lips pressed into a line. Jacob watched as the cogs began to turn in her head. She folded her arms over her chest, shrugging a moment before murmuring, “Lord Emerson Worth? The airship engineer?”

“How do you know about him?”  

“I read, Jacob,” Evie stated bluntly. “He’s the world’s leading airship engineer. His grandfather originally designed the airship and it was Lord Worth who took the plans and made them a reality.”

“Well, this thief definitely has some bad blood with this bloke,” Jacob murmured. He touched his jaw, finding the area tender and sore. The thief had a decent left hook-probably a fighter. Someone from Whitechapel or Southwark; they did have some of the best brawlers. In the morning there would be a bruise, but he could live with that. 

His ego, however-well, that was an entirely different matter. 

“Do stop fidgeting, Jacob,” his sister scolded. “You will only make it worse.” 

“And you can stop being a mother hen.” 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you would stop picking fights like some spoiled child.”

“Pft, you know what, I’m not in the mood for a lecture. I’m going to have a drink or six,” Jacob decided, slapping his hands on his thighs. He pushed himself off the chaise lounge and snagged his still soaked coat. “And don’t bother following me.” 

He started to make for the door but Evie immediately sidestepped in front of him, blocking his path. 

“Oh no you don’t,” she said. She stabbed her finger into his chest, hard. “You’re going to go and explain to Mr. Green what happened at the Danbury house. He needed those letters to prove Danbury’s involvement with —”

Jacob spun on her, seething, “I know why he needed those fucking letters.”

“Then you should’ve been more careful!”

“I don’t need this from you right now. I’m going to get drunk and find some non-judgmental company for the night.”

“I’m not surprised you want to drown yourself in alcohol,” Evie scoffed. Her brows furrowed harder, just like Father’s. “Seeing as that is what tends to occupy your time these days.”

Jacob rolled his eyes and shoved his sister hard in the shoulder, forcing her out of his way. He snatched up his top hat and shoved it on his head. He was not in the mood for a lecture. Not anymore at least. He held the desire to drink away his failure and wake up either in someone’s bed and not on the curb in a puddle of his own vomit and sweat. 

“Don’t die out there!” his sister called out to him as he walked away.

“Wasn’t planning on it!” he answered back with a dismissive wave. 

He exited the train car and paused. He retrieved the knife he had stashed away in his boot and held it aloft. The hilt of the blade was made of gold and ivory, the two components weaving together in an intricate braid. He examined the hand-made carvings of the knife, admiring the craftsmanship and detail that was in the blade. From his own estimate, it was an old blade, well-made, and likely belonged to someone who had an affinity towards these knives. 

Jacob hummed. Someone would be missing this dagger. Perhaps it was time he found its owner.

Chapter Text

two: Sebastian

Sebastian Worth had only been home less than a week when Juliette informed him that Lord Hugo Danbury had a recent meeting with London’s most feared man, Crawford Starrick. And if Danbury was meeting with Starrick, then it was safe to assume that something nefarious was in the works. 

“Likely more trafficking,” Juliette said over tea as he unpacked from his trip to Ireland. 

If that were true, then he and Juliette had their work cut out for them. And if Starrick was now involved? Well, that was something that Sebastian could not afford to think about—not while he and Juliette were so close to pinpointing the location of her sister. He had to keep Starrick out of his mind and focus on their primary target: Danbury. 

Just two days ago, Danbury had made a recent trip to Paris and returned to London with several more children tucked under his wing. He and Juliette attended the reunion, both of them mixed in with the crowd and watched as Danbury welcomed the children to London and introduced them to their new “families”. 

Sebastian’s stomach turned as he watched one of the Lords—George Wyndam—tightened his hand on one of the girl’s shoulders. He was half-tempted to take his knife and stab Wyndam in the throat with it, but Juliette told him to be patient. 

Then, the next day, Danbury met with Starrick. 

And that was where Sebastian drew the line. He had been patient. Been discreet. Been cautious… He had done all of those things, but now he could wait no longer. Something bold had to be done. So, the logical answer: break into Danbury’s house in an effort to blackmail him. 

Juliette told him as he was preparing to be careful. And most important of all: do not get caught. 

Well, he had royally failed that last part.

Before Sebastian even arrived at the Danbury home, he knew he had to get into the house without raising an alarm, so it was through the unlocked backdoor he knew the forgetful maid often left, a couple biscuits to Oscar to bribe the dog’s silence, and up the stairs to Danbury’s study. However, while rifling through Danbury’s scattered notes and letters, he did not expect another man standing in the doorway with a revolver in his hand and pointing it at his face.

They exchanged barbs. Sarcastic and arguably flirtatious at times. The other man Sebastian had encountered was skilled enough. But certainly not one of the men his father would ever hire. 

His statement about the other man’s appearance stood true. 

And in the heat of the moment, he had lost the letters to a candle, gotten shot, and was now stumbling his way across rooftops before he dropped down onto the next roof. Chest heaving and shoulder on fire, he clutched at his wound, breathing harshly through his nose as the sound of the rain surrounded him. He sucked in a breath before exhaling, eyes flicking down to see the bright red of blood staining his fingers. He could not feel a bullet, but he was certain of some fragments that had embedded itself into his flesh. 

“Sonofabitch,” he mumbled.

He had to get back to the flat—and try not to leave a blood trail. Luckily for him, current circumstances would wash away the blood into the sewers of London, and none would be the wiser. 

Another pang of pain shot through his body. Don’t get caught, she said. Don’t get caught! Ah, Juliette was going to murder him. 

Groaning, Sebastian trudged on, somehow managing to climb down another house and landing on the street’s pavement. His boots were soaked and there was a chill that sent unpleasant shivers up his spine. His teeth began to chatter as he continued his way through the mostly barren streets of London. He was angry and frustrated with himself as he passed unsuspecting patrons departing from the pubs and playhouses that lined the roads. He had been so close. So. Close. He had the letters. He had them! In his hands. And now… now they had been engulfed in flames and lost to become ashes. 

Sebastian made another turn on Birch, pushing out a forced breath, standing up straighter, and then walked on, dropping the wounded facade and replacing it with one of poise and pride. He held his chin higher, his eyes lay directly ahead to the dark blue door of a gray-stoned flat. His flat to be precise. He did not bother knocking as he knew that Juliette was likely still awake at the hour (and hopefully upstairs in her room). He entered the flat and carefully shut the door to his flat, shoulder aching with every move. He bit his lip, sucking in a deep breath in an effort to push the pain away. He took one step forward - creak! He froze and cursed to himself. Damn floorboard. 

“Sébastien?” a feminine voice called out. “Is that you?” 

Shit. 

Well, there was no use in hiding now. 

Sebastian sighed, dropping his head to his chest. He shook his head a moment before calling out, “Just me, Juliette.” 

There was the sound of shoes on the hardwood and as Sebastian turned to greet his life-long friend and flatmate, he knew he was in for a lecture. A young woman, just around his age, stepped out of the parlor and immediately her eyes went to the blood stained sleeve. 

“Mon dieu! What the bloody fuck happened to you?” Juliette hissed as she rushed towards him. Her auburn curls bounced as she made grabby hands for his arm, pulling him into the parlor and shoving him onto the velvet couch. 

“I got shot,” Sebastian answered.

“Shot?” Juliette’s brows rose to her hairline. She went to work ridding him of his coat and shirt, carefully peeling back the torn fabric to examine the wound more closely. She prodded at the entrance wound, forcing Sebastian to hiss through his teeth. “How did you get shot? And by who, for that matter?”

“I’m afraid I neglected to catch their name on my way oo–uch !” The last part of his sentence was sharpened by a yelp tearing from his lips. His head snapped to Juliette who held the now mangled bullet with a pair of tweezers, covered in his blood and flesh. 

“There. All done.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “Juliette.”

“Sébastien.”

Juliette placed the bullet onto a piece of paper and then wandered over to an ottoman. She popped the lid of it open and dug around a moment before retrieving a small sewing kit. Just a few needles of various sizes and threads of different colors. 

Sebastian glared at his friend. “You could have warned me you were going to do that.”

"And what would be the fun in watching you scream like a little girl?" was Juliette’s reply. She tapped him on the cheek with her finger. “Now, hush. I need to concentrate. And hold still. And tell me what happened.”

Sebastian heaved a sigh and allowed his shoulders to relax as Juliette pierced his skin with her sharp needle and slowly, but surely, began stitching his skin back together. 

“I was in Danbury’s study, going through his papers and I had what I needed in my hands but — ” He held his tongue, despite the urge to complain about earlier events and the other man who had stopped him from getting those letters. 

“But what?” 

“I lost… I lost them. There was someone else at the house, and I bet they were after the same letters.”

“Another thief?” 

“I don’t think so.”

Sebastian’s shoulder, including his injured one slumped. He grunted from the motion and sat up straighter, hoping to ease the pain radiating through his muscles. A pang of guilt struck him in his stomach. He knew how much Juliette needed those letters. After he heard the rumor about Danbury’s “charitable” trips to Paris while at court with his father, he immediately knew that the information could lead to Juliette’s sister. Thus, his plan to steal the letters and have Juliette make forgeries for their own safe keeping. Then turn over the forged letters to Danbury and blackmail him. Stop the trafficking or they will go to the press with these letters—and should he refuse, well. The originals would go straight to the public and Danbury would be ruined. 

Juliette’s soft voice broke his reverie. “Seb?”

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jules. I tried to get them but — ”

“It’s alright, Seb. This is far from over.”

“But—”

“No buts. This wasn’t your fault, and don’t blame yourself. We’ll just… find another away.”

Wordlessly, she finished her needlework, cut the thread with a pair of sheers and packed up her sewing kit. Sebastian’s hand came up to curl around his friend’s wrist. He offered her a firm but gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“I promised you that I would find your sister, and I intend on keeping that promise, Jules.”

"I know. You’ve always kept your promises, and for that I will always be grateful to you,” Juliette said. Her shoulders relaxed as she returned his smile and she reached out to touch his cheek. She patted him gently and then kissed him on his other cheek. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Seb. I just appreciate you trying to help me find my sister.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

Juliette rose to her feet and Sebastian mirrored her. He grabbed his ruined shirt and coat, mourning the loss of them briefly before making a mental note to stow them away deep into his closet before his maid Ms. Guthrie found them. He walked to the mantle and opened the wooden case that revealed a beautifully crafted revolver and holstered it to his hip. He opened another compartment inside the box and found another much smaller revolver—and this one went to his boot. He glanced up at Juliette who arched a brow at him.

“Should I be worried?” Juliette asked, gesturing to the holstered weapons on his person. “You look as if you are preparing for a fight.”

“You can never be too prepared when entering the streets of jolly good London,” Sebastian grinned with a wink.

Juliette rolled her eyes at him in response. 

“I don’t believe it is a good idea for you to be out wandering the streets after you’ve already been shot once tonight.” 

Laughing, Sebastian grabbed two knives from another compartment in the box and stowed one in each boot. Despite the recent changes in the city, London had not changed in her violent nature. She was a city that had iron in her veins and razor sharp teeth—and, as he had come to learn, a bite from London was almost always going to leave a mark. 

“Then it’s a good thing I am not going to on the streets, now is it?” he said, flashing a grin. 

Juliette rolled her eyes a second time, throwing her hands up, admitting defeat. “Fine, fine, go and get your insupportable cul into trouble again. See if I care the next time you come home with another bullet in your flesh.”

Sebastian laid a hand to his chest, just over his heart. His eyes softened. “I always knew you cared,” he said to her. He retrieved a fresh shirt from one of the many storage ottomans they owned and slipped it on. He reached for his dark emerald green frock coat and shrugged it gingerly over his shoulders. He was still injured and did not want to risk ripping open the stitches Juliette had so meticulously done. 

“You have nothing to fear, Juliette,” Sebastian said. He waltzed up to her and pressed a firm kiss to her brow. “I won’t be out too late.”

“Bien,” Juliette said firmly. She smoothed out the front of her dress and moved past him. She then paused at the threshold of the parlor. “Oh, and you have a meeting with your father in the morning to discuss current production efforts in Paris. He expects you to meet him at the house just after morning tea.”

Sebastian fought the urge to groan. He smiled through gritted teeth and boiling blood. Another meeting. Another discussion. Another attempt on his Father’s end to coax him into the life of diplomacy, greed, and politics. 

But Sebastian had no desire for such things. His heart belonged to something else entirely. 

“I will be as punctual as ever, dear Juliette,” was his response. 

He listened to Juliette trod up the stairs, the floorboards creaking under her feet. He heard the squeak of a door and then the gentle sound of it being shut. He stood quietly in the parlor before his gaze shifted, drifting to the model airship he had displayed on one of the bookcases in the parlor. His lips curled up into a grin. 

There was no time to waste; he had some flying to do.

Chapter Text

three: Jacob

Jacob stared at Greenie’s large board of portraits, scraps of paper, and red thread that connected to one another before landing on the grandest prize of all, Crawford Starrick, the Grand Master of the Templar Order. Or to others, the Man with the Mechanical Arm. He sat on the chair, leaning forward with his arms braced on top of his thighs. His eyes scanned over the board, tracking the red lines of thread that connected one portrait to another. 

Rupert Ferris—dead, Kaylock—dead, Dr. Elliotson—dead; all by his own blade. 

However there were few other names that had yet to be crossed off their list. 

Lord Hugo Danbury—alive.

Crawford Starrick—alive.

Lucy Thorne—alive. 

“Not for much longer,” his sister mused one afternoon over her tea and biscuits. There was a sense of anger that hovered over her shoulders as she angrily consumed her food. She and Greenie were on the verge of discovering something hidden in the old Kenway mansion (now in the hands of Templars). She was dead set on taking down Thorne, while he was still working on the Danbury lead.

He was not expecting for Danbury to fall into their laps, at first, it was a rumor. A whisper in the streets of London that would make ears grow hot and cheeks flush. But as Jacob had come to learn in recent years, rumors often had slivers of truth to them. This rumor was one that made Jacob’s stomach churn.

The kidnapping and selling of young children. Or in proper terms: human trafficking. 

And that was how Danbury first appeared on the Creed’s watch. 

Children, dozens of them, all departing from Paris and coming to London for a better life. Most of them were orphans and had little to no coin to their name. Danbury prided himself as being a respectable, charitable man. Often traveling abroad to orphanages in France to take two or three children and bring them back to London. 

The papers praised him as a saint. 

The Queen herself had given him a medal for his humanitarian efforts. 

But it was a lie. 

A well-crafted lie that allowed Danbury to fill his pockets with coin and innocent children to be at the mercy of their new “families”. 

But there was something that Jacob could not shake. The thief in Danbury’s home was searching for something, likely evidence, to prove something sinister was occurring. The desperation in their eyes and the anger they revealed was nothing of a disgruntled client as he and Evie had first believed. This was possibly a victim and they were out for revenge. 

And that meant there was more to the story.

Up till a few weeks ago, the board had been the same in appearance, with the recent adage of Lord Danbury. And as Jacob continued to work the Danbury lead, his patience was slowly thinning. Since his little jaunt there, Danbury had hired guards to watch the house. To escort him and his wife to every outing. Good ole Freddy offered to open an investigation into the attempted robbery but Danbury said that there was no need. Whatever the thief took, they could have. It was no use to him anyway.

As the leads dried up and days blurred into the next, there was a new portrait on the board—and this one was placed just to the left of Starrick’s own portrait. 

Jacob eyed the portrait with scrutiny at the name that appeared under it: Lord Emerson Worth. Engineer. 

The airship engineer who had not been on Greenie’s (nor the Assassin’s) radar until Evie reported some covert surveillance of Lucy Thorne and Lord Worth meeting together and having a very long, in-depth conversation. Worth appeared disinterested in what Thorne was offering him, but then again, he could be a fairly good liar and manipulator. According to Evie, they spoke for hours before shaking hands and departing, a familiar phrase dripping from Thorne’s lips.

“May the Father of Understanding guide us.”

Worth did not echo the words. He simply nodded his head, thanked Thorne for her time and company, and left, seemingly returning to his office once more. 

While it was not confirmed that Worth was an ally of Starrick’s (or a Templar for that matter), it did mean that his name would be added to the growing list. It would merit some kind of investigation—and that was where Jacob found himself.  

Up till now, there was little information regarding Worth. Jacob had only heard the name in Danbury’s home and when he relayed it to Greenie, even Greenie had little to offer. Despite his own network of eyes and ears that made frequent stops to the Worth home and watched the man’s daily movement, they had all come to learn that Worth was a man of structure and order. He had a schedule that he kept. Morning tea with his family, then he would depart the home just before 9 o’clock in the morning and go to his office to work. And he would stay in that office for a while before stepping out for a walk in the park, some lunch, and then return to the office to work until he left and returned home. 

It was a schedule that Greenie’s informants and urchins had relayed to him for over a week now. It was as if this man had nothing better to do. It was not until the recent meeting with Thorne that forced things into perspective. 

Something gnawed at Jacob’s stomach as his brows furrowed. He glared at Worth’s portrait, unimpressed by the stoic and poise the older gentleman held. For a second, he thought by staring at it long enough, it would burn a hole through it. But sadly, that never happened. But there was something else this man was hiding. 

“What do you know about this Lord Worth, Greenie?” he asked.

With a hum, Henry lifted his head from the pile of open books and notes he had scattered on his desk. He blinked a moment before his eyes dragged themselves to the board. 

“Well, he is an engineer. It was his father who designed the first airship and Worth was the one who saw that those designs would be crafted and taken to the skies,” Henry explained. “Now, London has at least a dozen airships that act as transportation to other countries.”

“Such as?”

“Paris, for one. He currently builds the majority of his airships in Paris and then brings them back to London.”

Danbury frequents Paris. Worth has his airship production in Paris too… Jacob mused with a shrug of his shoulders. Could be argued as a coincidence… Or they could be working together. Worth provides the transportation and Danbury buys his silence… Add in Starrick and the Templars, and you have three very rich and powerful men creating a network capable of expanding not just across Europe, but into other countries as well. 

It was as Greenie had said, whoever controls London, controls the world. 

“So, it’s safe to assume that Thorne met with Lord Worth to discuss a partnership with Starrick,” Jacob murmured.

“I’m afraid so,” was Henry’s reply from his desk. “Worth’s airships have already proven their use to Her Majesty. She has already announced that she intends to fund more airships and Worth would be a fool to refuse. Worth did say that he will likely continue building his airships in Paris, but with this new funding, he will likely start another production line in London.”

Jacob hummed in agreement.

“And that means Starrick could sink his claws into said production.” 

With Paris so far away, there was no sense in attempting to go there to thwart Worth’s airship production. He tapped his fingers on top of his thigh. He pondered his most recent encounter with the thief at the Danbury home. Perhaps the thief was an associate of Worth’s and trying to steal documents or letters of some kind of correspondence between the two men. Or the thief was just a thief and wanted to steal something to use against Danbury. It was not an uncommon motive for robbery.

Perhaps there was something else that he was missing. Something that was likely right in front of him…

Jacob took out the knife he had taken from Danbury's house. He flipped the knife in the air before snagging it by the hilt. 

“What can you tell me about the knife I gave you?” he asked. 

“It was likely an heirloom or kept for display purposes,” Henry replied. “I found no evidence of dullness or wear to the blade. And all the carvings were done by hand. Someone put a lot of work into the knife.” 

“And its owner?” 

“I spoke with a few contacts and they have not come across a blade matching this description. I’m sorry, Jacob. The blade was likely something your thief stole before attempting to rob the Danburys.” 

Jacob waved him off. “Well, guess I’ll just keep it then.” He stowed the knife into his boot again, slapping his hands on his thighs. “So. Back to Worth. What about his personal life? Married? Children?”

Henry stood up and Jacob noted four pieces of paper in his hands. He took pins and walked up to the board, carefully pinning the four portraits directly under Worth’s own portrait. 

“He is married, and has three children. He and his wife, Theodosia, have been married for about twenty-six years, and they have two daughters and a son. The eldest daughter, Emilia, is married and expecting her first child, while the youngest daughter, Sybil, is due to be married next month. Apparently there is going to be a party next week to celebrate her engagement to a— hmm, let me check my notes… ah, yes, Lord Mathieu Penhurst.”

Jacob nodded, taking Greenie’s information in pieces. He knew that he could not sweep the eldest Worth off her feet, nor the youngest either. Both were claimed by their partners. However, that left the son unspoken. He stood up and walked over to the board. He plucked the middle one, the portrait of the middle child, the son, and heir apparent to Lord Worth’s vast fortune and airship empire. 

Sebastian Worth was handsome, Jacob admitted. There was a boyish-look to the young man; after all he was just shy of twenty. Untamed curls that framed his slightly-angular face. Almond-shaped eyes with a singular mark just in the corner of his left eye. He still had some roundness to his cheeks, but he had a strong jaw, sharp enough to cut through paper. 

The longer Jacob stared at the portrait, the more familiar it became to him. His brows furrowed, eyes squinting. 

“I’ve seen this one before,” he said aloud, taping his finger onto the portrait.  

Henry, who had departed from his side and was now back at his desk, snapped his head up again. “I’m sorry?”

“Worth’s son. I’ve seen him before…” his voice trailed off—and then it hit him. He recognized those eyes. And the mark too. He only met the person once but this was without a shadow of a doubt the same person he encountered at the Danbury’s.

That son of a bitch. 

This was the thief who clocked him and threw a knife at his face. 

Jacob’s fingers tightened on the portrait, crinkling its edges. So Worth’s son was a thief. And a liar too. Now this was becoming more interesting by the minute. No wonder he had asked about who had sent him to the Danbury house. He was afraid it was his father who was hot on his heels. He shook his head, disbelief and anger flooding his veins. He puffed out a harsh breath. 

Now this was going to be interesting.

“Greenie, you said something about a party for the youngest daughter, right? A birthday?” 

“I did… an engagement party…” Henry’s voice wavered. He arched a brow, folding his arms over his chest. “What exactly are you planning, Jacob?” 

Jacob’s smile turned cheeky. 

“How fast do you think you could get me on the invitation list?” 

There was a pause. Henry eyed Jacob up and down before heaving a sigh and muttering, “Your sister is not going to be happy about this.”

“Then we’ll just keep this between us, Greenie.” 

Henry immediately frowned at the cheeky nickname. Jacob continued to smile, his lips spreading wider and wider as Henry eventually (and quite reluctantly) heaved a sigh and conceded into his demands. 

“Fine,” he muttered. “I will see what my contact can do. But I cannot make any promises, Jacob.” 

Jacob laughed and clapped a hand on Henry’s shoulder. 

“Has anyone told you that you’re amazing?” 

“I do not like deceiving your sister,” Henry protested as Jacob squeezed his shoulder. 

“Try not to see it as deception, my friend. Think of it as, well, undercover work. That’s what we do around here, right?”

“I fail to see how that is meant to clear my conscience.” 

Jacob slapped Henry hard on the back, nearly sending the other man careening forward. “Then don’t. Come find me when the invitation is ready!”

Three days after Jacob’s discussion with Henry about the party, Jacob was lying on the chaise lounge, hat tipped over his eyes, and dozing when Henry came waltzing through the door. Jacob startled, jerking up from the lounge and blinking at Henry with blurred vision. 

“Jesus Christ, Greenie, is the train on fire?” he asked, groggily. 

“No, nothing is on—oh nevermind, I have this for you,” Henry sighed. He retrieved something from his pocket and held it out. 

Jacob took it and noted the crisp white piece of paper with lilac trim around its edges. He glanced down at the paper and his lips immediately pulled into a grin. And there it was, hand-written in beautiful, elegant calligraphy. An invitation.

Lord Worth and Lady Worth cordially invite you to celebrate the engagement of their daughter, Miss Sybil Worth to Lord Mathieu Penhurst. 

A Garden Party will be held to celebrate the upcoming nuptials on March 28th at 1 o’clock at Lord and Lady Penhurst’s estate. 

Please dress accordingly.

A wide grin made its way across Jacob’s lips. Oh, this was going to be fun. Almost as much as he’d spent weeks hunting down Templars and getting his knuckles bloodied and bruised in the fight club ring. He met Henry’s gaze and laughed. Greenie had actually pulled it off. 

“I always knew you could do it, Greenie,” he said, admiring the invitation like it was a glass of the best whisky money could buy. “I could kiss you—but I won’t!”

“Yes, well. I am off to meet with your sister at the Kenway Mansion for a retrieval,” Henry said with a wave. “Best of luck to you, Jacob.”

“Yeah, you too, Greenie! Have fun! Don’t die!”

Henry sighed again and departed from the train car. In the silence, another thought crossed his mind, causing his excitement to falter and a more pressing matter occurred to him.

Now, what was he going to wear?

Chapter Text

four: Sebastian

The day of his sister's engagement party had arrived, and Sebastian was incredibly and most dreadfully bored. He heaved another bored sigh. His eyes flicked to the ornate grandfather clock just down the hallway. He squinted, attempting to read the clock hands. If he was right, the clock read a quarter past 2, it read. He had been at his sister’s engagement party for over an hour and he was already itching to leave. 

He and Juliette had arrived at the Penhurst’s estate precisely at 1 o’clock and she had already gone off to see Sybil, abandoning him to his own devices. She had assured him that once most of the festivities were over that they would return to the flat to resume their investigation of Danbury. 

He, on the other hand, had found himself a drink, tucked himself into an alcove, and watched as the other men chatted and discussed business with his sister’s fiancé. Notably, his Father was absent. Likely shutting himself off in Lord Penhurst’s study to conduct his own business while everyone else continued to enjoy the party. 

“You look dreadfully bored,” a feminine voice came from behind his shoulder. 

He glanced over his shoulder and found his mother, Lady Theodasia Worth, eying him with golden-brown eyes. Her dark hair was pinned back with a pearl hairclip, a few strands hung loose to frame her angular face and high cheekbones. She wore a dress of burgundy, made of crushed velvet and finely trimmed lace, long sleeves and a high collar. And to complete the look, she wore a pair of white gloves. Lady Worth lifted her hand and laid it on his shoulder (the same one that had been shot), and it took every fiber in his being not to flinch at her gentle touch. 

"Mother," he greeted warmly.

"Tell me, what troubles you?" she asked. 

“I do not wish to burden you with any of my problems.” 

“You have never burdened me with anything, my sparrowhawk.”

Sebastian sighed. 

“To put it simply, I would much rather prefer a comfortable chair and a good book than all this talk of politics,” he said. 

“I am afraid this is the world we live in, my son,” Lady Worth said with a shared hum. “Men who speak only in repetitive politics and business, and women who are to marry those same men. It is a cycle that always repeats itself.” 

Sebastian’s tone quickly turned cheeky, his lips turning up into a grin. “Perhaps I should just run away.”

“I should think not,” Lady Worth gasped. She wagged a finger at him. “Do you realize how much of a scandal that would bring to our family?”

Sebastian chuckled. “You’re right. I could never leave you here to deal with Emilia and Sybil’s incessant chatter. I’d hate to see you so miserable with my sisters.” 

“Sebastian Alexandre Worth, you watch that vile tongue of yours,” Lady Worth chided, playfully smacking Sebastian on the arm—the same one that still caused him some pain after being shot. Sebastian fought back a groan and winced. He only prayed that his mother, observant as she was, did not see it. She drew her hand from his shoulder and patted him on the cheek. 

“Sebastian, with Emilia married, and Sybil soon to be married…” 

Sebastian could already hear the words about to spill from his mother’s mouth— 

“... your father will expect you to —”

“To take over the business and continue his legacy into a new age, I am quite aware, Mother,” Sebastian recited for her. 

He had heard his father (and grandfather) say the exact same phrase all his life. Even when his grandfather died, he said those same words to his father, and he would likely hear those words again when his father died. He swirled his glass of brandy and took another sip. He tapped his finger on the side of the glass. 

“I know Father wants me to learn the business, but he —”

“Is a difficult man, I know. I have been married to your father for twenty-six years, Sebastian. This is not news to me.”

“I just…” Sebastian’s words faltered. He shook his head again. “I don't want to be the next Emerson Worth. I want to be my own person. Decide on my own future. Make my own mistakes and—not be my father.” 

Lady Worth heaved a deep, sad sigh. “Oh, my boy,” she murmured, shaking her head. She reached up with her hand again and cupped Sebastian’s cheek. He leaned into the touch, accepting the affection. “You have a brilliant mind and a good heart. You got those qualities from me. It pains me as a mother to see that your heart aches for something more.” 

Yes! Exactly! I want freedom. Adventure… maybe even love.

Sebastian hummed and quickly purged the thought of romance from his mind. Love was something that was not in his cards. Not with his own desires for the same sex. Those were feelings he had buried long ago as an adolescent and even now as a man just shy of twenty. 

He could almost hear his mother's voice in his ear. 

"When will you settle down, Sebastian? Find yourself someone to love and grow old with? I do not wish to die without seeing you in love."

With a woman , he'd often mutter to himself. That was always the part he filled in for himself. 

Shaking his head, Sebastian sighed, “Sometimes I wish I had wings like Icarus and could just fly away…”

“And yet it was Icarus who fell when he drifted too close to the Sun.”

I think I would prefer that fate over any other.

Sebastian opened his mouth to retort but a familiar feminine voice called out from nearby. “Mother!” Both he and Lady Worth turned their heads to find Sybil, the bride to be, dressed in a lilac colored lace dress, her dark hair, similar to their mother’s, fell loosely around her shoulders. She came striding up to them and took hold of Lady Worth’s wrist. 

“There you are, come with me. Lady Penhurst wishes to give you a gift.”

Lady Worth patted Sybil on the arm. “Of course, my dear. I will be there shortly. I just need to — ”

“It’s alright, Mother,” Sebastian said. He stepped back, gesturing to Sybil. “I’ll be fine. We can continue this conversation another time.” 

“Thank you, dear brother. You are a saint and if anyone should say otherwise shall have my wrath to deal with.”

“Sybil!” their mother gasped.

Sebastian and Sybil both snorted, not even attempting to hide their shared smiles and laughter. Sybil rolled her eyes—as the youngest of the Worth children, she was a spitfire that moment she was brought into the world. And from that day Sebastian’s world had changed. He had something worth fighting for, worth protecting. He bowed his head to his young sister and reached out to kiss her temple. 

“Always happy to be of help, dear sister.”

“And this is why you are my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother, Syb.”

“Still true! Now, come on, I don’t want to keep my future mother-in-law waiting too long. You know how she gets…”

Sybil tugged on their mother’s arm and reluctantly, Lady Worth departed, allowing herself to be taken away once more. Sebastian watched the pair leave before he began walking away from his little alcove and towards the grand stairs of the Penhurst home. Perhaps Lord Penhurst had some much stronger alcohol hiding in his library…

“You look as if you are in need of some better conversation,” an eerily familiar voice spoke. 

Sebastian froze. He knew that voice. No. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him, he told himself, clenching his jaw. It just couldn’t be… could it?

Back straightening, Sebastian’s gaze slowly turned and he was startled to find himself in the same room with the same man who had shot him just a week prior. He took in the other man’s current attire and found himself to be startled. It was a wonder that his man had completely turned around his appearance. His hair was combed back, free of any stray strands of dark brown hair. His stubble was less than a day old, giving him a “roguish” look to him. And he was wearing a clean shirt and trousers, tapering to hug his thighs and legs in a way that made the back of Sebastian’s neck burn. And proper shoes. Nothing like the mud-caked boots he’d seen that night in Danbury’s study. 

A surge of anger burned through Sebastian’s veins, pricking under his skin. How the bloody hell did he manage to get in here? This event was by invitation only! He cleared his throat, sobering up to maintain his composure. 

“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. He came down the stairs before stopping at the last one. His current position on the stairs gave him a height advantage, making him feel proud and arrogant. He held out his hand. “Sebastian Worth, brother of the bride-to-be. And you are?”

The other man eyed his hand suspiciously before smacking it to the side. He too walked up the steps, passing Sebastian before knocking his shoulder into his. Sebastian fought a cry from escaping past his lips. 

“How’s that shoulder of yours?” the man asked slowly, turning to face Sebastian. 

Sebastian felt a tick in his jaw. He drew his hand back and bit the inside of his cheek. Oh, this was how he wanted to play this game. Very well, two could play at that. 

His lips pulled back into a forced smile. He cocked his head to the side, eyeing the man up and down. “Are you one of Mathieu’s old schoolmates?” he asked again. His smile turned wicked and teasing. “The one who was kicked in the head by that horse? Or are you the one whose wife left him for his brother?”

“So, this is how you really want to do this?” the man grunted, lips turning up into a scowl. “With your family just a few rooms away?”

Sebastian frowned. The man was clearly not in the mood to play his games and his own patience was growing thin. 

He peered over the other man’s shoulder. His sister’s fiancé was occupied with his friends and colleagues while he knew his sisters and their friends (and their Mother) were outside and enjoying the rare sunshine London had to offer. And to his relief, his father was nowhere to be found. A mixed blessing of sorts. 

“Perhaps we are in need of a more private location to discuss matters…”

“A private location?” the other man grinned, wicked and infuriating. “What kind of a gentleman do you think I am?”

“A scoundrel for one.” 

The other man tsked, shaking his head. “Now, that is hardly becoming of the brother of the bride-to-be.” 

“If you do not want to be placed in cuffs and publicly humiliated, then I strongly suggest you follow me and keep up. I’d hate for you to get lost in this house.”

Sebastian turned heel and continued his way up the stairs. He knew exactly where he was going—the main library. He had spent a few weeks here after Sybil and Mathieu began courting, extending a hand of friendship to the other gentleman. Of course now, with a fury in his veins, and his blood growing hot under his collar, Sebastian wanted nothing more than to drag this ill-faced bastard who had stormed in on his sister’s party. And for what? To blackmail him? To finish the job?

The other man was hot on his heels, striding after him with arrogance and confidence as Sebastian went up the stairs, down a hallway, and opened a pair of double doors that led into a much larger and grander library. The main one in the house—and where Sebastian was quite tempted to throw the other man out the stained glass window. 

As the doors closed behind him, Sebastian whirled around to stalk towards the other man and shoved him hard against one of the bookcases. He pressed his forearm just under the man’s chin, forcing him to look up and choke out a breath.

“Who the bloody hell are you? And no lies!” he hissed. 

“Now, now, I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot,” the pinned man grunted. 

Sebastian continued his questioning, ignoring the man’s protests. “How did you get an invitation to my sister’s engagement party?” 

“You’re not, shit, exactly giving me a chance to, gah , explain myself!”

“I should have you arrested for trespassing on private property.”

“And ruin your sister’s party? Even I’m not that selfish of a brother,” the man sneered. 

Sebastian shoved the man harder, earning a choked grunt out of him. Anger flooded his veins and made his shoulders and back tight with tension. He pressed his forearm harder against the man’s throat, cutting off his airway. 

“I should kill you.”

The other man choked and managed to bite out, “But you won’t.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Damn, he was right. And he hated that his enemy was right. He couldn’t kill this man. Well, not yet at least. There was always another opportunity to kill this man if the chance arose. Sebastian’s forearm loosened from the man’s throat, but he still kept him pinned to the bookcase. His eyes narrowed. 

“What do you want?” he asked.

The man he had pinned drew a few sharp breaths. Their eyes met, a burning pair of hazel eyes and his own dark green that shared the same rage and distrust. 

“To have a conversation.” was the reply. 

Oh this was fucking rich. 

“A conversation?” Sebastian snorted. He shook his head, stunned at the bold statement that came from the other man’s mouth. “The last time we attempted to have a conversation you shot me, remember?”

“And I’m sorry for that.”

Another lie which Sebastian easily caught. He laughed again and snapped, “No, you’re not.”

The other man rolled his eyes. “Fine, you’re right. I’m not sorry I shot you—”

Sebastian laughed again, shaking his head. “Oh I am going to enjoy watching you be handcuffed…”

“But I know about Danbury. And I know why you were there. The children… the ones he’s been bringing from—”

“ Kidnapping ,” Sebastian corrected with a glare. He increased the pressure to the man’s throat, forcing him to puff out another choked breath. 

Despite his anger, he was surprised that the other man was not attempting to fight back. It sent a curious thrill down his spine. Why was this man not fighting him? He had clearly shown that he was a capable fighter. Clever and tactful… a bit brutish, yes. But it was obvious to him that this man would never back down from a fight. So why was he so calm now, Sebastian had to wonder. 

“I think the word you are searching for is kidnapping ,” he repeated with a growl.

The man held up both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, ack, poor choice of words,” he choked out. “Look, can you just let me go so I can explain myself without your forearm crushing my throat?”

Sebastian exhaled harshly through his nose. 

“Why should I?” he asked, pressing his forearm harder. 

“Because, gah, ack, I know about Danbury and I just want to talk to you.”

A beat passed slowly between them. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. He did not trust this man as far as he could throw him. But this man was also at the Danbury house too that night. And he had to know why. 

“Fine.”

He slowly released his forearm and stepped back, allowing the other man to catch his breath and rub at his skewed collar. He watched the man’s fingers glide across his neck, gently poking and prodding at where his forearms had been. 

“Now, was that so hard?” the other man asked. 

“Yes.”

“Fair enough, I suppose I deserve that,” the man said. “But I have something that I thought you might want back.”

Sebastian arched his brow. He watched as the other man slowly bent down and his own fingers went straight to the knife he had hidden in his sleeve. But he did not throw his knife—not yet. The man took out a knife and held it out for Sebastian to see. And a sense of familiarity filled his veins. It was his knife. The same one he had thrown at this man’s head at the Danbury house. He thought his aim was well-enough that he had embedded his blade in the man’s eye—apparently he was wrong.

“You stole my knife?” Sebastian gawked. 

“Hey, you threw it at me first!” the other man protested, gesturing to the knife resting in his palm. “I only took it as a souvenir. But seeing as I’ve found its original owner…”

“Stop stalling and tell me what you really want.”

“I want to help you stop Danbury.” 

Sebastian was stunned. Just a week ago he believed that this man was someone his father had sent to take him down. But now it was obvious to him that this man had no ties to his father or to Danbury. So, it posed the question, who was this man and who was he working for?

The first question came out slowly, as if pulling teeth with a rusty pair of pliers. “Who are you?”

“Jacob Frye,” the man answered. 

Sebastian’s brow arched. “No title?”

“I’m sure my sister would offer a few…”

Sebastian snorted. A man with a sense of humor. How… intriguing . 

“You’re not from London, are you?” 

“Crawley, actually.”

“Hmph, that certainly explains some things about you.”

“I’m going to try to not take any offense to that and let that one go.”

Sebastian snickered. Alright, so this… Jacob Frye was not an entirely horrible person. Just a man from Crawley who had burned the letters he needed to Danbury was trafficking children and shot him. A beat ticked by and Sebastian pressed his lips into a thin line. 

“Look, I know you want to stop Danbury, but you can’t do it alone,” Jacob said. “You and I both know that Danbury is a powerful man, with just as powerful friends. So, I’m proposing a temporary alliance. I’ll help you stop Danbury from taking any more children—”

“An alliance?” Sebastian scoffed with a sarcastic laugh. “ You tried to kill me—”

“And you threw a knife at my head. So, I’d say we’re even now.” 

Sebastian held his tongue. He sighed and said through gritted teeth, “Fair enough. We’re even. But why? Why want an alliance with me? What could you possibly gain out of this?” 

Jacob’s answer was firm. “My friends and I have another job that ties with Danbury. His fall from grace would be another wrench in Starrick’s machine. I help you stop Danbury and Starrick loses one of his best suppliers for child labor.”

Sebastian was stunned. Now that was a name he was certainly not expecting. Crawford Starrick was the most powerful man in London. No one could stop him and his growing empire. Even his own father knew not to meddle in Starrick’s affairs. 

“Too risky,” Lord Worth claimed one night over dinner. Sebastian poked at his roasted vegetables, his appetite long gone since the start of the meal. “Starrick is power-hungry and is willing to lie, cheat, and steal his way to the top if he has to. And I do not intend to be in his way.”

Nor I for that matter, Sebastian mused, considering Jacob’s proposal. 

His gaze shifted to the dark ruby red woven rug under Penhurst’s large oak desk. He walked towards it and sat on it, folding his arms over his chest.

“You wish to take down one of the most powerful men in London. You must have a death wish or something to think of something that idiotic—”

“Stopping Starrick means that London will be spared from a tyrant,” Jacob interrupted him, stepping forward.

Sebastian eyed Jacob up and down. He almost considered him impressed. This Frye fellow showed no sense of fear in regards to the potential consequences. Taking on a man like Starrick would be considered suicide. Impossible. And certainly not worth the risk, just as his own father said. 

“Those are bold words, Mr. Frye. If the wrong ears were to hear that, you’d be dead.” 

“Then let them hear. I know I’m right.”

Fair enough. He’s not entirely wrong. 

Sebastian pursed his lips, curious. He continued to prod further into Jacob’s motives. There was something else that this man was hiding from him and he was damn sure going to find out what it was. 

“And you think that Starrick wants to be the center of the world?” he asked. “Even above the Queen herself? To do so would imply that he wishes to take over the world.” 

“Starrick won’t stop until he's satisfied,” Jacob said. He folded his arms over his chest, forcing his biceps to strain more against the fabric of his shirt. 

Not that Sebastian noticed at all. He quickly averted his eyes a brief moment before turning them to Jacob, making the note to avoid looking at those arms that had once held him in a vice grip. 

“And unless someone tries to stop him, he might succeed. Is that a world you want to live in?”

No. No, it is not. 

Sebastian pondered over Jacob’s proposal. It was not a terrible proposal, no. He and Juliette were only two people, and only one of them had the ability to get close enough to Danbury to gain his trust. But the very thought of it made his skin crawl. And Juliette often stated that if she was alone in a room with Danbury, the man would be dead within a matter of minutes. Perhaps Jacob and his associates could be of use to him and Juliette. They could dig around in the underbelly of London where they could not. There was no harm in trying—or it could be a huge mistake and he and Juliette could be getting into a large plot they both wanted no part of. 

Taking on a man like Crawford Starrick could only spell disaster for them both. He knew that his fate would be sealed to be dealt with at the hands of his father, but Juliette’s? With no title and no husband… she would be at London’s (and by extension—Starrick’s) mercy. And likely face a rope around her neck should it all fall apart. 

And that was something that Sebastian refused to let happen. He would not lose his best friend to Starrick. 

But to live in a world in which Starrick controlled all aspects of life? Perhaps that was an even worse fate than just not doing anything. 

“I don’t trust you,” he stated simply. 

Jacob’s lips crinkled up into a grin. He nodded, as if he understood Sebastian’s apprehension and hesitation. 

“Most people don’t. But that’s hardly ever stopped me before,” Jacob said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Look, mate, if you need time to think about it…”

Sebastian’s head snapped up. “I’m not your mate,” he spat. 

Jacob snorted. “Sorry, my mistake.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed again. He eyed Jacob again. He tapped his finger on the desk and then asked, “Do you know where the airship docks are located?”

Jacob slowly nodded. “I do.”

Sebastian mirrored his nod. It was now or never, he decided. An opportunity had presented itself and he was not going to take any chances in losing it—despite the gnawing feeling of uncertainty settling low in his belly. Sighing, he dug into his pocket and held out a single gold coin in his palm. He tossed it to Jacob who caught it and began to examine it. 

“Here,” he said, hopping off the desk. “If you and your associates are serious about aiding me in stopping Danbury, then come to the airship docks tomorrow night. Give this to the watchman and he will bring you to my ship.”

Jacob appeared to almost choke on his own spit. “Ship? You have an airship?” 

Sebastian stopped at the threshold of the library. A smirk graced his lips. Oh this was always the best part in being the son of Lord Emerson Worth. He did enjoy watching the cogs turn in their head as it all kicked in. He slowly turned to face Jacob who still stared at him in shock. He cocked his head to the side and braced his arm against the doorframe. 

“I’m the son of the world’s greatest engineer,” he said. “Of course I have a bloody airship.” 

And with that final note, Sebastian turned heel and left, leaving Jacob Frye to sit and stew.

Chapter Text

five: Jacob

“I’m the son of the world’s greatest engineer. Of course I have a bloody airship.” 

Jacob watched Worth turn heel and depart from the library. He stood there stunned, the weight of the coin in his palm growing heavy with each passing second. He shook his head, the shock slowly leaving his body. 

He had expected Sebastian Worth to be… well, not that. Worth was cocky. Sarcastic. And arguably, sassy. Worth was a young man who had lived the silver-spoon in the mouth life and Jacob had nothing of the sort. Sure, his Father was a great Assassin and provider for their family, but they were nothing on the level as to the Worth’s. And for that, he held a tiny speck of jealousy. 

His lips curled into a grin. Maybe that was something he could work with, he thought. 

And judging by the conversation he had overheard with Worth and his mother, the young man obviously wanted more out of his life. And that this life, despite all he had been given, was not enough. Worth wanted freedom. He did not want to become his father. And in a way, Jacob sympathized with him. He was the son of an Assassin. He was born and taught how to stay hidden in the shadows. To be silent and discreet. To be unknown.

To be a killer. 

Jacob quickly sobered up, tucking the coin into his pocket and he too took his leave. He took a more alternative route, opting for stealth and discretion than a flashy exit that would likely get him caught or in more trouble with Evie later. And once he was past the gates and far enough from the Penhurst estate, he ducked behind a large oak tree and pressed his back against it, grinning from ear to ear. Ah, he couldn’t wait to rub this all in Evie’s face later. 

His snuck down to his pocket, the tips of his fingers grazing over the now cold coin he had been given. He slipped it out of his pocket and rubbed his thumb over the top of the gold coin, roaming over the edges and groves of the engraved bird that was on the coin. He did not recognize the bird, but it looked akin to either an eagle or some kind of hawk. But by his guess it must have had some kind of significance to Worth.

He made a mental note to ask Worth the next time they met. 

He pocketed the coin before continuing his way towards the tiny village that was home to most of the staff that worked at the Penhurst home. And just his luck, there were a few carriages sitting idly and waiting for him. He hired a carriage to take him back to Whitechapel (or at least near the outskirts). From there he could walk back to the train car and discuss their next plan of attack on Danbury. 

The carriage ride itself was boring enough. Jacob occupied his time continuing to examine the coin and occasionally glancing out the window as Whitechapel’s familiar cobblestones came into view. He notified the driver to let him off at the next intersection and climbed out of the carriage. He paid the driver his money and popped his collar to begin the long trek back to the train car. 

When he arrived, Evie drew her head up and arched a brow, her eyes scanned his attire. Her lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Where have you been?” she asked. 

“Out.” he said as he passed by.

“Out where?” she pressed. 

“I’ll tell you later, dear sister.”

Evie opened her mouth to ask another question but Jacob was already trekking through the train compartments towards the back where they had established their sleeping quarters. He went to his room and changed out of the attire Henry had provided and placed it in his trunk. There would be other opportunities to bring it back out. But for now, he was perfectly content with slipping into his usual gear of leather boots, long coat, and bracers. He returned to the main train car where they had set up their temporary office. He plopped down on one of the chairs and propped his boots on the ottoman. 

“So, shall we continue our conversation from earlier?” Evie asked. “Where were you?”

“Out.” he said again. 

“You can’t use that same excuse, Jacob,” his sister said. 

“Who said anything about it being an excuse?”

Evie groaned, rolling her eyes. “Fine, keep your bloody secrets.”

Jacob chuckled. He leaned further back into the cushions, settling in. He took out the coin Worth had given him and resumed his examination. Minutes ticked by in silence. He hummed and flipped the coin in the air, easily catching it in the palm of his head. 

“You remember that thief I met at the Danbury house?” he asked. 

Evie heaved a deep sigh from the desk she sat at. She had been pouring over every scrap of paper, every note, every shred of word she could find the whereabouts of the key that old Kenway had hidden. All of which were leading her nowhere. She drew her head up to meet his gaze, brows furrowed. 

“Vaguely,” she muttered. “What of them?”

“They want to meet us. Tomorrow night.”

The train car filled with silence. Evie stared blankly at him before asking, “Is that where you were? Meeting the thief? How did you manage that?” 

“They threw a knife at me and I tracked them down. Wasn’t hard,” Jacob said with a shrug of his shoulders. He scratched at the bridge of his nose and sniffed. 

Evie’s response was immediate. “You’re lying.”

Jacob sat up and scoffed, “No I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!” Evie shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at him. She stood up from the desk, eyes narrowing into a glare. “You just scratched your nose! And then you sniffed! You always do that when you’re lying!”

Jacob cleared his throat, stammering, “I swear to you dear sister, I am not lying! I would never lie to you!”

Evie laughed. “I don’t believe you!”

“I take it this is a bad time?” Henry asked as he entered the room. In his arms, he carried a stack of books and papers, likely sources to aid Evie in her search for the key. He blinked at first at Evie and then at Jacob.

Evie sharply turned to Henry. “What did you help him with?” 

Jacob placed a finger to his lips, hoping to silence Henry once Evie’s back was turned to him. He made a variety of motions with his hands, attempting to keep their previous activities a secret. 

“Help–help him?” Henry briefly glanced over Evie’s shoulder. He held the books tighter as his cheeks flushed under Evie’s piercing gaze and persistent interrogation. He cleared his throat. “Help him with what exactly?”

“Don’t listen to a single word she says, Greenie! Stay strong!” Jacob protested, scrambling up from the chair. He immediately went to Henry who paled and looked nervously between the twins. 

“Do you intend to lie to me too, Henry?” Evie asked, arching her brow. “I thought you were better than stooping to my brother’s level.”

“Perhaps I should come back later…”

“No, no! Don’t leave me with her!” Jacob said. 

“I think I may have left some items at the curio shop—”

“No one is going anywhere. Not until one of you tells me the truth,” Evie snapped.

Shit shit shit, Jacob swore. He bit the inside of his cheek and swore again. Hopefully this would not bite him in the ass later. 

“The thief’s Sebastian Worth!” 

The train car fell eerily quiet. Evie straightened her back and slowly turned to him, eyes slightly wide. 

“What?” she whispered. 

Jacob bit the inside of his cheek again. Not exactly what he hoped for this conversation to go… but there was no sense in ignoring the inevitable. He heaved a sigh and took out the coin Sebastian had given him. He tossed it to Evie who caught it and began eagerly examining it. 

“The thief at the Danbury house. It was Sebastian Worth,” he said again. 

Henry was next to speak, his own shocked tone piping up and said, “Sebastian Worth? As in—”

“Lord Emerson Worth’s son, yes. Happy?” 

There was a beat of silence. Henry shuffled awkwardly on his feet. He carefully set the stack of books onto the desk and cleared his throat. 

“Well this certainly changes everything,” he said. 

Jacob heaved a sigh. This was not how he wanted this to go; not at all. A beat of silence passed between them. He watched as Evie lowered herself back at the desk, the coin still clutched between her fingers. She had a stern look on her face—or was it something else? She lifted her head and tossed the coin back to him. 

“I take it your little excursion today led to you confronting Sebastian Worth?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

“And?”

“He tried to kill me again.” 

Evie snorted, as any sister would. “I’m shocked he didn’t.” 

Jacob scowled. He shook his head, half-tempted to give her an insulting gesture that would’ve had their Grandmother rolling in her grave. He rolled his eyes and scoffed. It wasn’t worth the argument, he decided. This could be tomorrow’s problem. But for tonight, he was itching to find himself a drink and have a relaxing evening. 

“I’m going out,” he muttered, making for the train car’s entrance. 

“Don’t die!” Evie shouted to him. 

As expected, Jacob did not die—but he did not return to the train car either. He stumbled his way through the streets of London and found himself accompanying a young lady with a dimple on her cheek and sky blue eyes to her lovely home and found himself in her bed for the rest of the evening. Eventually, he woke before dawn, his head aching and stomach churning. He left his sleeping partner and returned to the train car to sleep the rest of the morning hangover off.

And not an hour later, Jacob woke to the shuffling of papers, his sister’s muttered cursing, and what sounded like—wait, was that Greenie? And Evie? Eyes blurry and mind still very much in a hang-over like fog, Jacob released a loud yawn, stretching his arms over his head and popping his back. 

“I finally figured out where Kenway hid the key! I’ll be back later!” Evie called out to him as she breezed by. 

“Don’t die,” he grumbled. 

“I won’t!”

Jacob flopped back onto his makeshift bed and settled back into the blankets. He could sleep for another hour or too. He had returned late from the pub and was still tired from his meeting with Worth. Yawning again, he glanced up at the ceiling and then shifted his gaze to his jacket that held Sebastian’s coin. He threw his legs over the side of his makeshift bed and wandered over to his jacket, fishing the coin from the pocket. 

If Evie was going to be gone, perhaps he could do a little investigating of his own. 

“Oi, Greenie! Have any articles about Sebastian Worth?”

Hours later, Jacob found himself thumbing through another article Greenie had found about Sebastian Worth and some chap named Mercer. The article provided details of a body found in the Thames about a year ago. Foul play was suspected but nothing could be proven. Mercer was one of Lord Worth’s employee’s and formed a friendship with Worth. Jacob was skimming through the details of the mysterious death when Evie came storming into the train car. He glanced up from the sentence he was reading and flinched. There was dried blood on her coat, her hair was askew, and she looked down-right murderous. Jacob opened his mouth to speak but the look she gave him immediately forced him to close his mouth and not utter a word. 

He still wished to keep his tongue—and the rest of his body, intact.

“Your meeting with Worth is tonight, yes?” she asked. 

Jacob slowly nodded, fearing that if he spoke, he would lose a finger—or worse. 

“Good. I’m coming with you, and do not try to object.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Evie.” 

Evie cut him a look that sent a dagger of fear straight to his heart. Oh, she was beyond angry. She was furious . Something must’ve happened with Thorne and whatever it was, it apparently did not go well. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when Henry came striding into the room, smiling and warm. 

“Ah, Miss Frye, how did your —”

“I would rather not talk about it, Mr. Green,” Evie grumbled, pushing past him. 

Henry quickly dodged out of the way of Evie’s warpath and then once the sound of another door slammed shut, he turned to Jacob. 

“What did you say to her?” he asked. 

“What makes you assume that it was something I did?” Jacob retorted. 

Henry narrowed his eyes. Ah, Jacob knew that look. He was actually quite familiar with that look; considering his sister often gave him that exact same look.  

“Forget I said anything. It’s best we avoid my sister until she’s—”

Jacob’s words were cut off when a loud shout followed by the sound of glass breaking and furniture being overturned cut through the tension like a sharp blade. He flinched as another glass broke. 

“Calmed down?” 

“Or at least is no longer in a murderous rage.” 

Henry hummed in agreement. “Very well, I will be at the curio shop if you need me.” The man patted Jacob on the shoulder and then was gone—leaving him to potentially be a victim of his sister’s rage. Well, it would hardly be the worst thing that had happened to him. 

Jacob did not see or hear from Evie the rest of the evening. But he was not a blind man. He could deduce what had happened with Thorne. But because he was a curious man, he did sneak out of the train car and ask some of their Rook recruits what the word on the street was. And that was when he discovered that Evie did have the key, but then Thorne arrived and stole it. And now Evie was likely beating herself up after losing the key to a Templar. 

Jacob made a mental note to purchase Evie a new dagger to use on Thorne the next time they crossed paths. It only felt right that he could do something for his sister. Not to mention, it would be a nice way of shoving a beautifully crafted blade into Thorne’s throat and silencing her voice forever. 

Jacob’s lips turned up into a grin at the thought. 

Eventually, the sun slipped past the horizon and London’s nightlife came alive. He waited outside of the train car, twirling one of his blades when both Henry and Evie exited the train car. Evie had changed out of her old blood-stained cloak and opted for another one from her wardrobe, this one was dark in color with accents of ruby red and charcoal gray. 

“Shall we?” she said, waltzing to their carriage. 

“She looks less murderous,” Jacob murmured to Henry. 

“I would strongly suggest you do not go into your sister’s quarters,” Henry said as they walked. “It is, well, not pretty.” 

“Noted.”

The carriage ride to the airship docks was quiet, Jacob opted to take the reins while his sister and Greenie were in the carriage. He could hear Henry talking in a low tone and Evie mumbling something about Thorne, but he kept to himself most of the ride. And when they reached the docks, Jacob made sure to leave their carriage close by in case of a quick getaway. 

“So, care to explain why we are meeting Sebastian Worth?” Evie asked as they walked towards the airship docks. 

“I may have mentioned that we were also interested in taking down Danbury,” Jacob said with a shrug. 

“Wait, so Worth is expecting us to help him with Danbury? That was not part of our mission, Jacob!” Evie hissed, hitting him hard in the shoulder. She glared at him, seething, “I’ve known you to be reckless and brash, but this? This is something entirely different!”

“If this bloke can help us get information with his contacts in Starrick’s inner circle, then I think it’s worth the risk,” Jacob argued. “Besides, you might even be able to get that key Thorne stole from you.” 

Evie stopped dead in her tracks. She glared venomously at him. “That” she spat. “Was hardly my fault.”

“And yet here I am getting us access to Lord Worth,” he said. “You’re welcome!”

Evie opened her mouth to retort but a new voice startled the three of them.

“The docks are closed!” a gruff voice called out. “Come back tomorrow at dawn.”

“We’ve been invited to see someone,” Jacob said with a sigh. He fished out the coin and tossed it to the watchman. 

They caught it easily and then arched a brow at first. They eyed the trio up and down before slipping the coin back into their pocket and bowed. 

“Captain Worth’s ship is the last one on the right. You can’t miss it,” the watchman said. “Have a good one.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “Captain? Did Mr. Worth mention that he was a captain to you?” 

Jacob shook his head. “No, but I’ve come to learn that Worth has a flair for the dramatics.” 

Evie snorted next to him as they passed the watchman’s post and continued on. 

“He sounds like you.”

Jacob shot her a scowl and pressed on, Evie’s words still holding a knife to his throat. Dramatic? He wanted to protest. When had he ever been dramatic?

As they passed the docked airships, they eventually came to a halt and then to their right was an airship with the words, The Kestrel, carved into its hull. From their position and the dim lights of the gas lamps, the airship was painted a brilliant white with accents of ocean blue and emerald green. They traveled up the extended plank and stepped onto the deck of the airship. 

“This ship is truly a remarkable work of craftsmanship,” Henry breathed, eyes slightly wide. 

“Why thank you!” someone shouted above them. 

Jacob immediately extracted his hidden blade while his sister crouched low and drew up her hood, her own hidden blade exposed and glimmering in the light. Henry took position next to Evie, his own knees bent and blade extended, poised and ready for an ambush. 

“Welcome aboard The Kestrel, Mr. Frye and associates,” the same voice called out again.

Jacob’s head shot up to the top of the mast—and there standing in the crow’s nest was Sebastian fucking Worth. Green eyes beaming and lips drawn back into a self-assured grin. Jacob snorted and retracted his blade, gently patting Evie and Henry on their shoulders. 

“You could’ve mentioned you were a captain of your own airship,” Jacob shouted. 

“I thought you knew?”

Jacob frowned. He knew that Worth owned one, just not the captain part. He started to wonder if his oh so brilliant idea to form an alliance with Worth was going to be, well, worth it. No pun intended. 

“I brought my associates.” 

“I can see that! Be down in a moment!” 

Jacob watched as Worth so effortlessly climbed down the mast and then landed on the solid deck on both feet. Unlike Worth’s previous garb, he was wearing an emerald green frock coat with recently polished brass buttons. He wore a white shirt and dark trousers tucked into dark brown, buckled, leather boots. If Jacob considered himself to be a betting man (and he usually did), he could only assume that Worth had dressed up to show off. 

Arrogant bastard. 

“So sorry for the surprise. But it is not every day I make the decision to meet with the same man who tried to kill me,” Worth said with a sarcastic wave of his hand. He peered over Jacob’s shoulder and then smiled again. “I take it these are your associates you mentioned?” 

“My sister, Evie Frye, and Henry Green,” Jacob said, gesturing to Evie and then Henry. 

“Pleased to meet your acquaintance, ah, Captain Worth?” Henry spoke. 

“Sebastian will be just fine. Captain is usually reserved for my crew,” Worth said. “Now, come with me, there will come a time when I can properly give you a tour of my ship.” Worth began strutting towards the stern of the ship. “I believe your brother mentioned that you may be interested in forming a… partnership, of sorts, yes?” 

“Something like that,” Evie said, knocking her shoulder into Jacob’s. 

Worth chuckled and then opened a set of doors with stained glass windows at the top of them. He proceeded through and led them down a narrow hallway until they reached another door—and at the top of this one, there was the same bird engraved into the wood as the one on the coin. Worth opened the door and stepped inside. 

Jacob’s eyes immediately found themselves on the young woman who stood at the desk in the center of the room. She was dressed in jewel tones, complimenting her auburn hair. She smiled at them, her smile almost reminded him of a fox. Cunning and clever. There were likely stories hidden behind that same smile. 

“Miss Frye, Mr. Frye, Mr. Green, allow me to introduce you to Juliette Devereux,” Worth said, waving his arm out to the young woman who stood next to the desk. 

“I thought thieves work alone,” Jacob said, arching a brow. 

“Some, but not all,” was the other man’s reply. 

Henry was the next to ask a question, gesturing in between the two. “Are you his—”

“No, I am not his wife. Or his secretary,” the young woman—Juliette—said without hesitation. She folded her arms over her chest. “I am just an old friend who has a particular interest in Lord Hugo Danbury.” 

“And what interest is that?” Evie asked. 

“My sister,” was her response. Juliette withdrew a pendant that hung around her neck and popped it open. She tossed the necklace to Evie first and then Jacob drew himself to stand over his sister’s shoulder and looked down to see what was inside. 

And there was a tiny portrait. A man and a woman, and two girls. One with similar features to Juliette, and then another who appeared much younger.

“She disappeared not long after our parents sent me to London. A year later, I learned that our parents died and so, I went back to Paris to take her with me, but when I got there, she was gone. I learned from a friend that someone had taken her—but that was last I heard about her.” 

“And let me guess, you think Danbury is behind her disappearance?” Jacob said. 

“There were witnesses who saw him come to our home and take her.”

“I know where this is going,” Evie hummed, closing the pendant. She tossed it back to Juliette who caught it and placed it around her neck again. “I take it they are all dead as well?” 

“Unfortunately, you are correct,” Juliette answered. 

“What brought you to London?” Henry asked.

“My father worked as the foreman for Lord Worth’s airship factory. Lady Worth offered my parents an opportunity for me to come to London and learn how to be a proper lady. They accepted it, and so, I was sent to live with the Worth’s—”

“Your sister did not go with you?”  

“No, she was still too young,” Juliette said. “She would stay in Paris until she was old enough—”

Jacob tuned out the rest of the conversation, his eyes wandering around Worth’s office. He noticed a bunk tucked on one side of the room. The bed did not appear to be slept in, but it had been recently made. 

“And that is why you broke into Danbury's house? To see if he left a note containing her location?” Henry pressed. 

“Yes, and then I met Mr. Frye who interrupted me during my little search,” Worth said. 

Jacob lifted his eyes to meet Worth’s dark green ones. He smirked—and he noted the faint tick in Worth’s jaw. He was starting to get under his skin. 

“And what is your interest in Danbury?” 

Evie’s answer was precise, like a well-aimed arrow to the heart. “We want to stop him from supplying trafficked people to act as child labor.”

“Then I believe our interests are mutually aligned,” Worth said, his eyes never leaving Jacob’s. “Juliette, would you care to show our guests what we have been working on?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Grinning, Juliette crossed the room and pressed a button on the wall. Jacob, Evie, and Henry all startled as the sound of mechanical clicks and whines echoed around them. They all turned to where Juliette was standing to watch as the false corrugated wall collapsed in on itself. It was then revealed a horizontal board that appeared eerily similar to the board Henry had in the train car. It was precisely mounted, all the sides in equal length to each other, with hastily written notes pinned amongst the pictures and maps.

And instead of their version of it containing Crawford Starrick at the center, Lord Hugo Danbury was placed there. 

“You two have outdone yourselves,” Henry breathed in awe. 

“This was all Juliette’s work,” Worth said with a shrug. “I only aided in her efforts. As the son of a Lord, I do have connections.” 

“But not the ones you need to find her sister,” Jacob said. 

Worth’s lips immediately pressed into a thin line. He frowned and Jacob returned the look with a smirk of his own. Jacob felt his sister nudge him hard in the ribs. Worth quickly changed his expression from annoyed to—wait, was that defeat? Had he hit a nerve?

“Forgive my brother, he can be a bit blunt,” Evie said. 

“Bluntness aside, he is right,” Worth said with a nod. “Because of my status as a Lord’s son, and Juliette as essentially my father’s ward, the people we need to speak with are the common people. And we do not exactly fit that image… which is why we need your help. Ask too many questions and someone may end up in the Thames. And that is something we would like to avoid if possible.”

“And in return?” Jacob asked. 

“I will provide any information you require, but on one condition.” 

“What is it you want?” Henry asked next. 

“None of this can trace back to me,” Worth said. “I’m the only son of Lord Emerson Worth, if this were to come back to me, my family would be in shambles. I do not wish to see them fall on account of my own desires.” 

Evie nodded. She held out her hand. “You have yourself a deal, Captain Worth.” She shook his hand and then folded her arms over her chest. “We will start asking our friends in Whitechapel if they know about Danbury and any of the girls he’s brought to London over the years. Someone has to know something.” 

“And I will start working on my connections in regards to Crawford Starrick… after all, that is why your brother approached me with this partnership, in the first place.”

Evie’s eyes slightly widened. She smiled at first and then slowly turned to Jacob, her eyes sharpening like daggers. Jacob could feel that she was tipping towards shouting at him. Oh, he was going to be in for an earful now.

“Did he not tell you?” Worth asked. 

“I’m afraid my brother neglected to mention that part,” Evie seethed. 

Jacob cleared his throat. “Must have slipped my mind.” 

The rest of their meeting with Worth passed by in a blur. Jacob tucked himself into a corner of the room, watching his sister and Worth chat, while Henry and Juliette were talking about something related to forgeries. And when it was time to leave, Jacob could have sworn he felt Worth’s eyes burning a hole in his back. He even glanced briefly over his shoulder to find Worth staring at him—and then quickly drew his gaze away. Jacob felt a pang of something unfamiliar hit him in his belly. 

Was Worth—blushing?

Shaking the thought from his mind, Jacob, Evie, and Henry departed from The Kestrel in an awkward silence. The tension was so thick it could not even be cut with the sharpest of blades. Henry cleared his throat and offered to return with the carriage and quickly left Jacob alone with Evie. 

“I can’t believe you told him about Starrick,” Evie hissed once they were alone.

“I had to give him something to trust me.” 

“You are going to jeopardize everything we are working to do here!”

“Worth would’ve never given me the chance to talk if I hadn’t tossed him that bone about Danbury! What did you expect for me to do?”

“Not tell him about Starrick! ” 

Jacob rolled his eyes and shook his head. There was no sense in trying to argue for himself. He was not going to win this battle; not by a longshot. He folded his arms over his chest, tilting his chin up. He could not win this argument about Starrick; but perhaps there was something else he could do to win his sister over.  

“I have an idea, and I’m not sure you’re going to like it,” Jacob said, taking off his hat. He brushed away some stray dirt and placed it back on his head. 

“I don’t know if I should listen to you right now.”

“Look, Evie, my dear sister, I know how much taking down Starrick means to you. To the Brotherhood. And I think I might have a solution.”

“What are you suggesting?” 

Jacob shrugged and answered, “We lie to Sebastian Worth.”

Evie’s brows shot up to her hairline. “You want to lie to him? Knowing full well that he is the son of Lord Worth, who could have your head on a silver platter?” she gaped. She was quick to arch her brow, eyes narrowing. “Why? What are you planning?” 

Jacob’s mind drifted to the article he had read earlier. About the body in the Thames. If he did not play his cards right, that could be him next. It would make Starrick very happy to have him wiped off the face of the earth…

“To see if your suspicions about his father are true. That he intends to work for Starrick and that he intends to become a Templar.”

“You want to get close to Worth to see if his father is a Templar?” she asked again, repeating his suggestion. “And do you suppose you are going to manage to do that?” 

“You have your strengths,” Jacob said, gesturing to her first. He then laid a hand on his chest as she scowled at him. “and I have mine, dear sister.” 

“This is highly unlike you, Jacob Frye. I’m not sure if I like it.” 

Jacob snorted. Since when had Evie ever liked anything he did? He glanced up to see Henry approaching with their carriage. He nudged his sister in the shoulder. 

“What can I say? I’ve matured.”

Evie’s expression was quick to twist up into a scowl. She rolled her eyes and smacked him hard in the shoulder. 

“Or you intend on being reckless and get yourself into trouble.”

Jacob’s lips curled into a grin—his signature trademarked grin. He winked at her as Henry and the carriage rounded the corner. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes shifting in the direction of the docks and The Kestrel. Now, this, this, was something he could do. 

“That is what I do best, dear sister.”

Chapter Text

six: Sebastian

The door shut behind the last of Mr. Frye’s entourage and Sebastian finally allowed himself to breathe. With a tired groan, he flopped back into his chair, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He heaved a deep sigh. He was already feeling the makings of a headache. He pinched the bridge of his nose harder. He heard Juliette hum next to him. 

She’s staring again.

“What?” he dared to ask.

“Mr. Frye is certainly a handsome gentleman,” Juliette said candidly. “His sister is also quite attractive… but it’s obvious she has something for Mr. Green.”

“I would hardly call the man a ‘gentleman,’” Sebastian retorted without even looking at her. “A scoundrel, yes, but a gentleman he is not.” He could feel her smiling at him. Wicked and teasing. He dared not look in her direction; he already knew what she was thinking—and he was not in the mood to listen to her. 

“So you do not deny that he is handsome?”

Sebastian forced himself not to groan. This conversation is going nowhere. 

“Juliette, please , not now.”

He pinched his nose harder, hoping that with time and pressure, the headache would go away on its own. This was hardly the time for such a conversation. Especially not one from Juliette. He was already warding off his mother and sister’s attempts at finding him a decent companion; but he had no interest in any of them. 

Mainly because they were all women. 

“I found him to be very handsome,” Juliette shrugged, continuing on with her comments. “He had this… oh, roguish element to him. Something forbidden. Dangerous, even.” There was a brief pause. “It would certainly be a change of pace from—”

“Don’t.” 

“Seb, it’s been a year. How much longer do you intend on torturing yourself?” 

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek, stifling the growl from escaping. He knew that Juliette had good intentions. She was his friend and meant well—but it was still a sensitive subject that even he avoided. 

“Please don’t antagonize me.”

“I am your friend, Seb, it is my job to antagonize you.”

His gaze drifted over to Juliette who walked over to their board and pressed the button again. The wall righted itself again, returning to its original blank wall. Juliette grabbed the painting that obscured the faint lines of the false wall and adjusted it accordingly. 

“Why must you insist on pestering me about my romantic life?”

“Because it is so fun to watch you squirm, mon ami,” was Juliette’s cheeky reply as she propped her hands on her hips. “And as someone who cares deeply for you, it is my duty to ensure that your life, especially your romantic life—”

“I should fire you!” he blurted out of exasperation. 

“But who would keep your father off your back?” 

Sebastian held his tongue.

Damn, he hated it when she was right. 

“Fine, I will admit, Mr. Frye is… handsome,” Sebastian said with a deep sigh. Those roguish features certainly did not leave much to the imagination. 

“Oh?” 

Cheeks flushing, he then quickly switched his tone, pressing for something more aggressive and annoyed. “However, he is also arrogant, rude, and brash. He is reckless and indecisive. He thinks that everything is a joke and I do not trust him!”

“Then why agree to work with him if you don’t trust him?” Juliette asked, arching a brow. 

“Because I am doing this for you.” 

Juliette tilted her head, her shoulders relaxing. She walked up to him, lips turning up into a smile, and then pressed a firm kiss to his head. 

“I am grateful for your kindness, mon ami. Now, try to get some rest, Sébastien . You are very dear to me and I would hate to see something happen to you.” 

Sebastian snorted and leaned further back into his chair. “Besides drink myself into a stupor and jump into the Thames?”

“Exactly,” she said. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Goodnight, Seb.” 

And with a wave, Juliette slipped out of the room and Sebastian was alone with his thoughts and his ship. He tilted his head back, his eyes casting up to the mural of the constellations he had commissioned when he was gifted the ship from his father. His eyes roamed over the expanse, noting Orion, Scorpio, Cassiopeia, and Aquila. He heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes. 

This, he decided, was going to be a nightmare. 

But if it meant Juliette could be reunited with her sister and Danbury would have his fall from grace, then let the nightmare commence. 

The month of March faded fast, swiftly budding into April where the days were filled with rain and mud. Not even a day after meeting with the Frye twins and Mr. Green, Sebastian and Juilette set to work on determining when Danbury would be returning to Paris for another “charity trip”. With their recent partnership with the twins, they now had access to the underbelly of London where for the right price, people would be willing to talk. 

Of course, that venture began to prove more difficult by each passing day. No one wanted to talk. They were either afraid of Danbury or afraid of his friends, and that included Starrick. Eventually, Evie and Jacob were forced to draw themselves briefly away from the investigation with the recent discovery of the omnibus wars between one Pearl Attaway and her competitors. But Mr. Green made himself readily available to assist in any way he could. 

Sebastian did his best to keep in touch with the news, but his mind was still preoccupied with Danbury’s activities and using Jacob and Evie’s own network to keep tabs on the man. Not to mention, he was still expected to play his role as the son (and heir apparent) of Lord Worth. Which meant he would be dragged to court with his family, leaving Juliette to work with Mr. Green on scrounging up any leads involving Danbury. 

And with some luck and patience, Mr. Green managed to track down a man who had remained anonymous the majority of the time. He worked directly under Danbury and was the point of contact for any interested parties who were seeking out these young girls. It was Juliette who managed to find out the man’s name—a Benjamin Houser. And with some digging, more and more of Mr. Houser’s ‘activities’ began to fall into place. 

A mistress. A very young and pretty (and pregnant) mistress named Penelope. 

And Juliette, being ever so friendly, made quick friends with Penelope.

“Mr. Houser’s mistress is convinced that he intends to divorce and leave his wife for her,” she informed him over tea one afternoon. “But she is young, in love, and will likely believe any lie that man spins for her.”

Sebastian glanced up from his desk. “What are you suggesting?” 

“Houser is supplying the girls for Danbury’s operation, right? Then we need to play his game. Pose as a couple looking for a suitable maid,” Jacob answered. 

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. Deception was certainly not beneath him—but it was something that he was not fond of doing. If the lies were not believable, the rest of the job could simply fall apart at the seams. And that was something he was not willing to risk. 

“We’ll have to be careful,” he said. 

“Then we'll just have to make it look convincing.”

Sebastian shifted in his chair. He eyed Jacob with raised brows, clucked his tongue, and nodded once. It was not a horrible idea. Juliette could use her new found friendship with Penelope to tell Houser that he potentially had a new client. Not to mention, her skills in forgery could create some very convincing letters. Houser would take the bait and they would be able to go forth with their original plan. 

Perhaps there were some decent ideas somewhere in that handsome head of Jacob Frye’s—

No, no! Not handsome! NO. We are not going there. 

“You make a fair point, Mr. Frye,” Sebastian said in a rush. He blinked rapidly, averting his eyes back to the papers on his desk. More requisition forms and plans for the factory in London. He was on the verge of clawing his own eyes out. “I’ll have Juliette work on securing some of those letters. And in the meantime, what will you be doing?” 

Jacob shrugged and flashed a grin.

“What I always do, stir up unnecessary trouble.” 

Sebastian felt his cheeks immediately heat up at the grin that had formed on Jacob’s lips. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, well, I suppose that is what you do best now, is it? Stir up trouble even when there is none?” 

“Have to keep things interesting around here somehow.” 

“You are an impossible man, Mr. Frye.” 

Jacob laughed. “Someday, you’ll learn to trust me, Worth.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Unlikely.”

(oh, how wrong he was.)

April 1868

A few days later, Jacob came to him one late Thursday afternoon in the middle of April while he was hunched over his desk and rifling through papers Juliette had dropped off regarding his father’s production line in Paris. Inventory notes. Item requisitions. Repair logs. Just endless amounts of paperwork that he felt he was drowning in—and to be honest, he was in need of a distraction. 

Enter Jacob Frye once again. The man charged through the door and slammed it shut, grumbling in his wake. Startled, the papers went flying on the floor and Sebastian reached for the closest weapon: a revolver he had strapped under his desk. In one practiced movement, he had it cocked and aimed at Jacob, his finger barely grazing the trigger. 

“Don’t shoot!” Jacob said. “It’s me!”

“Jesus Christ, Mr. Frye!” Sebastian shouted. He uncocked the revolver and stowed it back under his desk, scowling at Jacob. “I could’ve shot you, you idiot!” 

“Well, you did try to kill me before…”

“I am going to choose to ignore that,” he muttered. “What do you want, Mr. Frye?” 

“Have I ever told you how much I hate politics?” was Jacob’s response. 

“No,” Sebastian huffed. “but join the club, I’m afraid.”

Jacob released an irritated huff and flopped down on the couch he had in his quarters on The Kestrel . Sighing, Sebastian glanced up and noted the tensed shoulders and rigid body language Jacob was expressing. He leaned over the side of his chair and began gathering up the papers he had scattered as a result of Jacob’s unexpected arrival. He laid them on his desk and gestured to the now closed door. 

“You know, you could’ve just knocked,” he said. 

“I wasn’t sure you would answer.” 

“Still doesn’t give you the right to barge into my room without asking. And how did you even get past the watchman?” 

“None of your business. And you’re not protesting, you’re only complaining.”

Sebastian’s cheeks heated as their banter only continued. He rolled his eyes and tossed his pen aside. He rolled up his sleeves, kicked up his boots on his desk, and leaned back in his chair. He gestured for Jacob to speak.

“By all means, the floor is yours, Mr. Frye.”

“... remember the omnibus wars? Between Attaway and Millner?” 

Sebastian’s brow lifted, questioning. He blinked at Jacob, curious. He had read the papers and he was not unknown to the recent events. Several of Millner’s omnibuses had some kind of accidents—very explosive ones. 

“Vaguely. People like to talk,” he said. He arched his brow. “Am I to assume that you had something to do with Millner’s recent ‘accidents’?” 

Jacob’s expression turned sheepish. He shrugged his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth to speak but Sebastian quickly cut him off—

“Wait, have you been helping Pearl Attaway this whole time?” he asked. 

“Uhm, if I answer yes, are you going to yell at me?” 

Sebastian blinked once. Then twice. Then three times. He slowly withdrew his boots from his desk and stood up. Dread filled his veins. As the son of a Lord he knew everyone who was anyone in London. And that also included Pearl Attaway. 

Crawford Starrick’s cousin. 

Bloody fucking hell what a mess.

Jacob arched a brow at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Mr. Frye, Pearl Attaway, is Starrick's cousin.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by Jacob’s mouth dropping and whispering, “Oh. Oh.” 

“Am I to assume that you did not know this?"

Jacob's head snapped up. Sebastian flinched at the anger-fueled expression Jacob had on his face. He growled out through gritted teeth, “No. No, I did not know." 

“I suppose that changes things, does it?” 

“It does.”

“What do you intend to do, Mr. Frye?” 

“Fix my mistake, I suppose.” 

Sebastian felt his heart clench, tight and painful. Perhaps he should not have said that. But it was too late now. The cat was indeed out of the bag. There was no going back. Slowly, he nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I thought you—”

“Don’t apologize,” Jacob interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him. “I’m glad you told me. And I apologize for snapping at you.” 

"You have no reason to apologize," Sebastian argued. "If anyone is to be issuing an apology, it should be me."

“Apology accepted. Well, good luck then, Mr. Frye. And— ” his voice trailed off. He blinked at Jacob, still trying to come up with the right words to say. He sucked in a deep breath, straightened his posture, and tilted his chin up. “Be careful. I’d hate to lose you before our partnership is over.” 

“I’m surprised you actually care.” 

Sebastian frowned, his eyes narrowed in Jacob’s direction. 

“I’m always concerned about my investments.” 

"Investments?" Jacob repeated. He cocked his head to the side, lips spreading into a Cheshire grin. He stood up and approached him, eyeing him up and down. "Is that how you see me? As an investment?"

“I expect you to help me in stopping a dangerous man from destroying more lives,” Sebastian answered, stepping back. “I think the term investment is warranted in this situation.” 

He sidestepped around Jacob but the other man’s hand shot out and snatched him by the wrist. Sebastian reacted and spun, raising a hand to strike at Jacob but the other man was quick and shoved him hard against the wall. He could feel Jacob’s breath hit him in the face—the lingering scent of alcohol filled his nostrils. He felt his own breath hitch as Jacob’s hands squeezed his wrists. 

“And I’m making sure your father doesn’t find out about what his son does in the dark,” Jacob said with a growl. “You might want to be careful about how you say things. We wouldn’t want him finding out about our… arrangement. ”

Sebastian did not fight against Jacob’s grip. He was not afraid—not of Jacob at least. But his father was an entirely different story. Lord Emerson Worth was not a man many opposed. He was powerful, almost as much as Starrick. And he was charming, charismatic, and a brilliant manipulator. He could make even the foulest of insults sound like compliments. And if he ever made a threat, those were not to be taken lightly. 

He had come to learn that part the hard way. 

“What did you do to him?” 

His father’s reply was short—and eerily calm. “I did what was necessary.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes staring back at Jacob’s. 

A sense of calm eased over him. 

“If you are going to threaten me, do it properly,” he spat. He wrenched his wrist free of Jacob’s grip and pointed to the door. “I believe you have a prior engagement that requires your attention, do you not?” 

Jacob smirked again. He held up his hands and backed away. 

“I think I’m starting to understand why you rejected all those ‘non-existent’ suitors,” he said. 

Sebastian wanted to laugh. Oh this was rich. He cocked his head to the side—curious. Now this was something he had to hear. 

“Then by all means, enlighten me.”

“No one’s been able to match your stubbornness.”

Sebastian could not stop the words from spilling from his lips. “And let me guess, you think you can?”

Jacob’s lips turned up into another smirk. Arrogant and self-assured. He took a bold step towards him, their faces now inches from each other. Sebastian held his ground, despite the very slight height disadvantage. Jacob had just two inches on him (not to mention the muscled frame that was hiding and straining under those clothes— don’t even think about looking at him, Sebastian. Stop it. STOP IT. ), but Sebastian was not going to step down to a man like Jacob Frye. 

He dropped his head next to Sebastian’s ear and whispered, “I know I can.” 

And with that said, Jacob turned on his heel and left. 

Sebastian stood in the quiet of the room and slowly walked back to his chair. He sank into the soft cushion and dropped his hands over his eyes. 

Jacob Frye was going to be the death of him, he decided. 

Not even moments after Jacob’s departure, Juliette entered his office, her hair windswept and the hem of her dress slightly muddied. She pointed to Jacob’s retreating form, arching a brow. 

“What was Mr. Frye in your office for?” Juliette asked him. 

“Nothing that is of your concern, Juliette,” Sebastian answered, ignoring her pointed look. He leaned back  “Now, what news do you bring me about Houser and Danbury?”

Hours later, Sebastian was still in his office and working when Jacob came stumbling inside. He eyed the man up and down, taking in his mud-caked boots, the single tear in his jacket, and fresh blood on his cheek. There was a gash on his forehead, sluggishly bleeding. What the hell had happened to him? He glanced at Jacob’s knuckles, finding them to be bruised and scuffed with mud, soot, and blood. What the bloody fuck had the man been up to?

“You’re bleeding,” Sebastian stated. 

“Hmm?” Jacob looked down at his knuckles. He brushed his knuckles against the sleeve of his coat, hissing, “ Ah, shit. Don’t worry, I’ll get this cleaned up…”

"No, just stop, stop. Please. You might have a head injury, you fucking idiot,” he snapped, getting to his feet. He stepped out from behind his desk, pointing a finger at Jacob. “Just sit back. And stay still."

“I’m fine—”

“Like hell you are.”

“I’m fine.”

“Do not make me tie you down.”

Sebastian watched as Jacob’s lips turned up into a grin. He winked—the bloody bastard. And he immediately felt his cheeks flush. 

“That a threat or a promise?”

Sebastian scowled, his cheeks growing warmer at the teasing tone in Jacob’s voice. His eyes flicked over to Jacob’s bruised knuckles. Ed had the terrible habit of getting himself involved with the fighting rings and often returned with knuckles just like Jacob’s. Bruised and bloody. It was like looking in a mirror. He watched as Jacob flexed his fingers and a sudden shiver shot through his spine. Those were some very handsome fingers. Calloused and worn. They were the hands of a brawler… I wonder what those fingers would feel—NO! NO! Stop it! 

“Do not make this more difficult, Mr. Frye,” Sebastian managed to choke out with a harsh breath. “Now, just sit still and try not to move too much.” 

Jacob slumped onto the couch, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, groaning. “Attaway’s dead.”

Sebastian took a sharp breath, his body stiffening. He flexed his fingers and wiped them on his thighs. “Well, that certainly complicates things… Starrick will likely throw a fit once he finds out.” 

“I’m not scared of Starrick,” Jacob bit out. 

“You should be,” Sebastian muttered. 

Jacob gave him a pointed look—a mixture of curiosity and pride. Sebastian knew that Jacob was likely not scared of Starrick. But most of London was terrified of the man with the mechanical arm. Hence why he steered clear of him. 

“And why’s that?”

Sebastian snorted. This man was quite dense. “Well, considering you just murdered his cousin…”

“I never said it was me.” 

Sebastian paused and eyed Jacob with a raised brow. He felt a smile sneak its way upon his lips. “You didn’t have to. Now, just stay still and don’t move,” he said. “I’d hate for you to get blood all over my floor.”

He shucked off his frock coat, rolled back his sleeves, and grabbed the basin of water and a few towels. He brought the basin and towels over, setting them on his desk before dipping one of the towels in the water. He returned to Jacob and gently pressed the damp towel to the other man’s cheek, wiping away the blood in gentle strokes. After a few minutes had passed, Sebastian could feel Jacob’s eyes on him. 

And it was taking everything in him not to meet Jacob’s gaze. 

"Do you do this often?” Jacob asked, his tone teasing.

"Do what?” Sebastian said. 

"Allow strangers in your room and help clean them up?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes, continuing to wipe away the blood. He dabbed at the gash that was still bleeding at Jacob’s temple. Jacob hissed as he applied pressure to the wound.

"I’d say we’re hardly strangers,” he said. “We're…” His voice tapered off. He pondered over Jacob’s statement—and wondered, what exactly were they? 

At first they were strangers, then for a brief moment, enemies, and now—well, he was not actually sure what they were now. 

"Friends?”

Sebastian’s response was immediate. "Acquaintances with a similar end goal,” he said, drawing his hand back. 

“What? We can’t be friends?” Jacob asked. 

"I never said that.” 

"But it was implied?"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Sebastian snapped, narrowing his eyes. 

"Do you ever stop working?" Jacob quickly countered.

Sebastian stalled his movements, his brows furrowing into a glare. He rolled his eyes, ignoring Jacob’s comment. He finished wiping away the blood and then tossed the blood-soaked towel into the murky water of the basin. 

“Juliette informed me that Houser bought our con and will be meeting Mr. and Mrs. Grey in Paris in two days. We need to be there before he arrives.”

Jacob lifted a hand to his face and touched his cheek. He drew his hand away and found his fingers to be free of blood. 

“So, when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“You know, I’ve never been to Paris.”

Sebastian nodded, satisfied with his work. “Then you are in for a treat, Mr. Frye.” 

"Jacob."

Sebastian paused, his hands gripped the blood-stained towels tight. He carefully set the towels aside, his brain still attempting to process what had just happened. He held his breath, and then slowly turned to face Jacob.

"I'm sorry?"

"You can call me Jacob,” was the response. Jacob shrugged, leaning forward with his forearms braced on his thighs. “Seems only right that we are on a first name basis since we’re going to be working together."

Sebastian felt his lips twitch, slowly turning up into a faint smile. He nodded, acknowledging Jacob's truth-filled statement. Perhaps it would not be such a terrible idea to call Mr. Frye by his first name.

"Very well, Jacob. I will have Juliette pick you up tomorrow morning. Do not be late.” 

"Can’t wait."

Jacob winked at him again and all Sebastian wanted to do was curl up inside his boots and hide the growing blush on his cheeks. 

Yes, Jacob Frye was either going to be the death of him—or he was going to surprise him all together.

Chapter Text

seven: Jacob

April 16, 1868

Jacob knew that he should have gone straight to the train car after killing Attaway. 

He should have returned to Evie, poured himself a drink, and then gone to bed.

Simple as that. 

But no. 

No, you see, he made the conscious decision to go back to Worth’s ship, knuckles bloodied and bruised, and still a little high from the adrenaline. They talked, and even flirted a little (more so on his part than Worth’s). Jacob could not hold his tongue as Worth wiped away the blood. He felt Worth’s fingers graze against his skin—and he had to push himself with everything he had to suppress his body from shuddering from the touch. 

Worth’s fingers weren’t rough or callused like his own—they were soft. The fingers of an aristocrat, he quietly mused to himself. How was he to expect anything else?

And when Jacob left, he snuck out of the docks without alarming the watchman and began to make his way back to the train car. He looked down at his knuckles, his own thoughts wandering. An image flashed across his mind. One that made him stiffen and tense up. Worth lying flat on his back, himself hovering over him, and their eyes locked onto each other. They were both fully clothed—but for how long, he had to ask himself. 

Jacob bit the inside of his cheek, hard . He tasted the familiar tang of blood touch his tongue. 

Fuck.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Jacob flipped up the collar of his shirt and returned to the train car, head bent and eyes glued to the ground. As he stepped through the threshold, he found Evie up and waiting for him. While she usually kept her hair up during the day, she had it down and in a single braid. She glanced up from the book she was reading, a single brow arched. She leaned back in her chair, crossing one ankle over the other. 

"You're home late," Evie said as he peeled off his coat.

"Had some business to sort out,” he grunted. He rotated his shoulder. In his escape from Attaway’s office, he had rolled off the roof and hit the ground fairly hard. Like a trained Assassin, he landed on his feet—but stumbled and slammed his shoulder into the brick wall. Not exactly one of his finest moments. 

"Am I to assume that business involves Pearl Attaway?"

Jacob was half-tempted to boop his sister on the nose. But he also did not have a death wish. He simply answered with a nod.

"How did it go?” she asked him as she closed her book. 

“Turns out Attaway was working for Starrick… and now she’s dead,” he answered. He threw his coat over one of the other unoccupied chairs and slumped down in it. He tilted his head back and shut his eyes. “Simple as that.” 

There was a pause. Brief. And then Evie hummed. “I suppose that is a good thing… One less Templar to worry about.”

Jacob cracked open one eye to find her staring at him. 

“What?” he asked.

“Something else is bothering you,” she said. 

“I’m fine, Evie.”

“No, you’re not. Something else happened. And it has something to do with Worth.” 

“Nothing happened between us.”

“Now I know you’re lying to me.” 

Jacob rolled his eyes. He heaved a sigh and sat up straighter. He turned to face her. 

“Attaway was Starrick’s cousin. Happy?” 

Evie’s eyes widened slightly. “What?”

“Yes. And now she’s dead. End of story.” 

“Henry never mentioned that Starrick and Attaway were related.” 

“He probably didn’t know either.” 

Evie continued to press for more information. “So how did you find that out?” 

“Worth told me.” 

Evie’s brow arched higher. 

“He told you? And without incident?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

"There is just no pleasing you, is there?"

“No.”

“Well, there’s no sense in even trying,” he grumbled. He stood up, cracked his lower back, and pointed in the direction of his sleeping quarters. “I’m going to bed. By tomorrow morning I’ll be out of your hair and in fucking Paris.” 

Evie's face pinched. “Jacob—”

“Goodnight, dear sister.”

And like that he was gone. 

The next morning, Jacob dragged himself out of his warm bed and managed to put himself together to be presentable. He had yet to shave but that could wait another day or two. He finished packing the remainder of his belongings, tucking away a few more knives for good measure. He had never been to Paris before, but it felt necessary to be prepared for anything. With his bag slung over his shoulder, he exited the train car with Evie waiting outside for him. She appeared to be already washed and dressed, her hair braided neatly and pinned perfectly in place. 

“Come to see me off?” he said to her, dropping his bag at his feet. 

“Happily.” 

Smirking, Evie strode towards him and planted herself in front of him. She reached up and began adjusting his collar properly and dusted off his shoulders. For a moment he thought he was standing in front of their mother—and not his sister. She did have her nose, according to their father. Not to mention the freckles too. It was like looking at an old portrait. 

“Be careful out there,” she said. 

“You worried about me?” he teased. 

Evie rolled her eyes with a disgruntled huff. “Hardly,” she said. She gave him a hard shove. Her tone turned teasing, just as any sibling would. “I worry for the people of Paris who have to deal with you for the next few weeks.” 

“I’ll be back in London before you know it.” 

“Don’t die, alright?” Evie poked his chest. “Who else am I supposed to celebrate Starrick’s downfall?”

Jacob knew that Evie was not big on affection; a trait she had inherited from their Father. He, on the other hand, lived and breathed for affection. It did not have to be a grand gesture, but even the smallest of touches set a fire to his belly and made the blood in his veins sing. Smirking, he dropped his suitcase on the ground and pulled Evie into his arms. He dropped his chin onto her head and held her close. 

“I know you hate hugs, but I’m going to hug you and you are going to stand here and let me do it,” Jacob stated firmly, and would brook no argument.

In his arms, he felt Evie struggle to right herself but eventually, she gave into it and accepted the affection. 

“Promise me you’ll take care of my Rooks?” 

“Never on your life, brother dearest.” 

After sharing a sentimental moment, they ended their embrace and Jacob’s gaze shifted to the carriage that had arrived for him. It was unlike any of the carriages he had been in before. This one was maintained well, the intricate details of the bird that curved and swooped along the length of the carriage. Jacob couldn’t help but ease a smirk to his lips. 

“All of this, just for me,” he said to Evie. 

“Actually, this is my personal carriage,” a feminine voice spoke. Juliette poked her head from inside the carriage and smiled warmly at him. “Come along, we don’t want to keep Sebastian waiting too long. He can get a bit… difficult, if we are late.” 

“Try not to burn Paris to the ground,” Evie called after him with another shove. 

“Don't stop Starrick without me. I deserve a bit of fun.”

Evie rolled her eyes and waved, the faintest of smiles gracing her lips. 

Deep down he was going to miss her. He was more than just his sister, she was his twin. His other half. She was everything he was not—and she was better. Better than he could ever aspire to be. Without her, who was he? 

A failure, his father’s voice mocked so many times before. 

Sucking in a deep breath and pushing those haunting words aside, Jacob climbed into the carriage and sat down across from Juliette. He gave his sister a final wave and then turned his attention to Juliette. 

"You and your sister appear close," she observed once the carriage had begun pulling away. 

"As close as twins can be," he responded.

“I know the feeling. Before she went missing, my sister and I were inseparable,” was Juliette’s soft reply. She folded her hands over her lap. “You know, I never had the chance to thank you for what you and your sister are doing to help me, to help Sebastian. You two already have obligations in London to the Brotherhood, and now—”

Brotherhood? Jacob was quick to interrupt, his eyes widening. “What did you just say?” 

Juliette’s smile turned devious. She chuckled and removed one of her gloves, soon rolling up the sleeve of her dress just above her elbow. There in beautiful black ink was a very familiar symbol tattooed into her skin. 

“We work in the dark to serve the light, Mr. Frye,” Juliette recited, rolling her sleeve back down. “Is that not how that phrase goes?”

Touché. Smirking, Jacob leaned back against the back of the carriage, brow rising higher. “Does Worth know about your little secret?” 

“ Non , and I intend to keep it that way. And if you dare utter a word, you will find yourself sleeping in the Thames.”

Noted. 

“Greenie never mentioned another Assassin in London.” 

“Because I am not,” Juliette said. “I am a forger. I was recruited by the Brotherhood when I turned 16. They had their suspicions about Starrick’s lust for power and figured that my position as Lord Worth’s ward could be proven useful. So, I would provide them with forged documents and letters to aid in their efforts…”

“And in exchange they would help you try to find your sister. That’s how you found out about Danbury.” 

“Correct.” 

Jacob sat up straighter. Juliette mentioned that her speciality was forgery. Documents. Letters… the engagement invitation. Bloody fucking hell. Damn, what else was Greenie hiding from him?

“The invitation. Was that your work?”

“Like it?” 

“It was… most impressive.” 

Juliette smirked. 

“It was hardly difficult,” she shrugged. “Sebastian’s sister had already asked for my assistance with her invitations. I just happened to have some spare ones lying around…” 

Jacob clucked his tongue and leaned back. He could not help himself but wonder what else Juliette was hiding from him. 

“Does Houser even have a mistress?” 

“He does.” 

“And she is pregnant?” 

“She is. Due in November.”

Jacob nodded. Well, this was going to be a very interesting mission indeed. 

The carriage ride to the airship docks was quiet for the remainder of the journey. Juliette had taken out a needle and thread and began working on what Jacob assumed was some embroidery or cross-stitching work. And then, they reached the docks, the carriage lurched to a halt. Jacob allowed Juliette to exit first and then stepped out of the carriage to find Worth standing near the entrance of the docks. 

He was still wearing that ridiculous jewel-toned frock coat with shiny buttons. Jacob could not stop himself from eyeing Worth up and down—a fleeting thought crossing his mind: I wonder what Worth looks like under that fucking coat. 

What?

“Juliette, as punctual as ever,” Worth commented as they approached. 

“Always for you, mon ami.” 

“Juliette, my dear, your room is just as it always is. Mr. Frye, if you will follow me.”

Worth waved a hand over and Jacob soon followed. His eyes flicked over the several other crew members, most of which he recognized. They are regulars at some of the pubs he frequented. They acknowledged him with nods of their own before turning to their work at readying the ship for departure. They walked the same route they had taken when Jacob had first stepped on board the ship a few weeks prior. They went down the same hall before stopping at a door on the right. Worth stuck his hand into his pocket and retrieved a key to unlock the door. 

“And this is where you will be staying,” Worth said, unlocking the door. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. 

Jacob followed suit, taking in the private room that had been arranged for him. It was smaller than the office he’d been in, but it looked comfortable. A bunk on one side of the room, and a wardrobe on the other. The room was furnished (as much as the space could be), and Jacob immediately dropped his suitcase onto the bed as Worth continued to speak.

“I know it is a little cramped, but since we are only using this as a means of transportation until we go to my flat in Paris—”

“You have another flat?” Jacob turned to face Worth, arching a brow. “In Paris?” 

Worth’s cheeks turned pink. Jacob felt a pang of something hit him square in the chest. It was almost adorable to see this man so flustered. Worth quickly cleared his throat as Jacob arched his brow higher and higher.

“Uhm, yes.”

Jacob smirked. Aristocrats.

“I bet you have a line of suitors just clawing for your attention,” he said, popping the lid of his suitcase open. “Your own flat in London, an airship, and another flat in Paris? You must be batting them off with a stick.”

“I would be if there were any,” Worth said, his tone having shifted. 

“A handsome man like you and no suitors? Call me shocked.” 

“Let’s just say that my ideal suitor is not a rosy-cheeked aristocrat’s daughter.”

Jacob’s shoulders tensed. So, his hunch was correct. Worth preferred the company of men. Certainly explains the need to be this dramatic airship captain with a ridiculous wardrobe. He ran his tongue over the back of his teeth. 

“Does that bother you?” Worth worded his question slowly for there was a sense of fear that lingered in his voice. One that Jacob had been very familiar with as a young boy. 

He had fought that internal battle long ago and had finally come to somewhat understand and accept who he was. Women? Yes. Men? Also yes. Both were… good. It was only right that he assured Worth that he was not alone either. 

Jacob shook his head, and a smile lifted its way to his lips. “No.”

A fleeting look of relief passed over Worth’s face. And something warm bubbled inside Jacob—and he had no idea what it meant. 

Worth quickly straightened his posture and smoothed out the front of his frock coat. “Well, I will allow you to settle in. Juliette will be just across the hall. Archie will have dinner ready in a few hours, and Reggie will be upstairs if you need anything else.”

And we’re back to the formalities. 

“You know, we never discussed payment,” he pointed out. 

“And here I thought you were doing this out of the kindness of your own heart, Mr. Frye,” Worth said. He hummed, folding his arms over his chest. “Well, I suppose you are entitled to compensation. Will £2,000 suffice?” 

Jacob forced himself not to choke. £2,000! He could do almost anything with that kind of money in his pockets. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, stammering, “Sounds about right.”

“Fantastic. I will have Juliette draw up the papers. She will likely come by later to have you sign them, if you have no objections?”

“No objections here.”

“Good, well then. So, just make yourself at home, Mr. Frye.”

With that said, Worth left and Jacob was alone. 

He settled into his temporary quarters aboard The Kestrel easily. He made sure to wander around the ship, taking note of every nook and cranny. Every little hiding spot that would give him access to all the gossip that floated around the ship. And one of the best locations was the crow's nest, or he had come to find out. Up there he could watch and track everyone's movements, and that included Worth and Juliette.

And just as Worth had said, Juliette had stopped by his quarters and presented him with a proper contract that detailed the job. He skimmed over the pages before he signed his name and returned the papers to Juliette. 

The first day into their journey to Paris was uneventful. Most of the time, Jacob spent his time in his quarters and reviewing all of the recent information he and Evie had dug up on Danbury and Houser. He also made sure to write a quick letter to Greenie and inform him that he had met his forger. And judging by the fleeting glances Juliette sent him, she knew that he was up to something too. 

But he was a trained Assassin. This was something he was born to do. 

And not even Sebastian Worth was going to stand in his way of getting what he wanted. 

April 19, 1868

Dawn broke over the horizon when The Kestrel finally arrived in Paris. And just as Worth had said, Paris was nothing like London. 

The city was alive and bustling. And the air was filled with airships. Airships of different shapes and sizes. And all of them bore the Worth's crest as proof of not only ownership but who was running the market in airships. Jacob whistled once they arrived at the Paris airship docks, just north of the Champ de Mars. He could almost feel his sister’s envy from across the sea that separated them. 

"Your father has certainly made a name for himself in Paris," Jacob mused as one of the crew packed his suitcase onto the carriage. 

Worth brushed a strand of his hair from his face. 

“My grandparents began their life here, and so did his business. Then my father traveled to India where he met my mother and they came back here. They married, had children, and then once my grandfather died, my father took over the airship industry, and well, here we are.”

“When Sébastién is in Paris, he oversees all operations here while Lord Worth is meeting with investors and constructing new airship designs,” Juliette said. 

“And when he’s not doing that?” Jacob asked. 

“Then I am enjoying my time as any other Parisian,” Worth answered a little too quickly. “No more questions please!”

The carriage took them across the river Seine and east in the direction of the Louvre. In their cramped carriage, Juliette began to spit out facts of her city, prattling on and on about the rise and fall of its leaders, the French Revolution (which he already had intimate knowledge about from his father’s teachings about the French Assassin Arno Dorian), and many more subjects. He tuned out most of the conversation, his gaze occasionally shifting over to watch Worth who had his head turned and was looking out the window of the carriage. 

The carriage passed by the Tuileres Gardens and just on the edge of it, slowed its pace to stop at a street appropriately named rue Saint-Honoré. The exterior of the flat reminded Jacob of a botanist’s home. Large windows with sprawling flowers and greenery. The sides of the building were crawling with ivy, looping together and spawning fresh sprigs of greenery.

The carriage’s driver hauled their luggage into the flat, setting the majority of it in the main parlor off to the left side of the entryway.  And when they walked inside, the interior of the flat was painted in pale shades of blues, grays, and greens. Light and refreshing—as if stepping into a greenhouse. Jacob made himself comfortable and sat down in one of the jewel-toned velvet chairs, folding his arms behind his head and taking it all in… including a board that had been built and appeared eerily similar to the one he had seen on The Kestrel. 

Damn, he sighed. Did Worth even know how to relax? 

Humming, he knocked his boots onto the coffee table—

“Feet off the table, Mr. Frye!” Juliette scolded. “We are not a boarding house!” 

Jacob protested but relented, pulling them off with a huffy stomp.

Worth tipped the carriage driver handsomely, quietly thanking him in French, before closing the door and striding into the parlor. He rid himself of that ridiculous frock coat, revealing a freshly tailored shirt and waist-coat. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing those toned arms Jacob had found himself sneaking a quick peek. 

“According to Juliette’s information from her dear friend Penelope, Houser will be arriving in Paris tomorrow and is going to be meeting a Mr. and Mrs. Grey to inquire about a maid for their home the following day. Juliette, you have all that information, yes?” 

“Yes, amor.”

“Good, good. Now, I suggest we take the rest of the day to discuss strategy and—”

“Or we could plan tomorrow morning and go out tonight and explore the city,” Jacob suggested with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Worth heaved a sigh, ignoring him. “We have a job to do here, Mr. Frye. An important one, need I remind you?” 

“And I’ve never been to Paris,” he argued. “And I want to see Juliette’s city.” 

Worth’s lips pressed into a line. He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Once this job is over, I will personally bring you back to Paris and you can explore the city until your heart’s content.” 

Jacob arched a brow, his lips turning up into a cheeky grin. “You’d bring me back?”

There was a beat of silence and for a split second, Jacob could have sworn he noted a faint color of pink rise to Worth’s cheeks. The other man cleared his throat, eyes shifting to the map of Paris he was examining. 

“Only if your own interests do not keep you too busy,” Worth said in a huff. 

“I think once Starrick’s out of the way, my schedule should be open,” Jacob replied with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“I am going to take a short nap,” Juliette announced with a wave of her hand. “Do wake me when you are ready to go explore.”

“We are not going to explore!” Worth argued. “Juliette! Juliette! Damn it all—”

Jacob leaned back and smirked. Oh he was going to enjoy this job.

As Paris was considered home to both Juliette and Worth, Jacob allowed them to take the lead on their outing. Well, more so Juliette than Worth. He was more content with lingering in the back while Jacob had his arm looped through Juliette’s. They strolled through the Tuileres Gardens, and passed through the open market of Les Halles. As they walked, she eagerly pointed out all the various market stalls and their wears, stepping away occasionally to speak in French to some of them. They happily welcomed her back with open arms, rapid French spilling from their lips, ignoring both himself and Worth. 

And after chatting with an eager weaver, Juliette informed them that there was a tavern not far from them that was said to be the best in the city. Worth looked worried, his face crestfallen, and Jacob couldn’t help but smirk. 

This was the best first day, he decided. 

“Just so we are clear this was not exactly what I had in mind when I said to ‘explore the city’,” Worth said as the trio stood outside the entrance of the tavern, appropriately named, The Friar’s Cup. 

“When was the last time you had any fun, Worth ?” Jacob teased, nudging the other man in the ribs. 

Juliette opened her mouth but Worth was there to point a finger at her and hiss, “Not a single word from you.”

“What?” she gasped. “I can’t tell him about the time you were so drunk that you got up on our kitchen table, no shirt, and started singing, “God Save the Queen”?” 

Worth’s face flushed a bright shade of red. His eyes flicked over to Juliette, brows bunching together and lips pursing. 

Jacob almost keened at the thought. Oh he would have paid all the money he had just to see that happen again. Worth, shirtless, face flushed from the alcohol, and tromping around like some court jester. A thought crossed his mind. Perhaps he could attempt to draw Worth to the other side and finally, finally , get him to relax and enjoy their evening. 

And he had the perfect idea. 

Now just to execute it. 

Chapter Text

eight: Sebastian

This was not how he wanted to spend his first day in Paris. Far from it actually. He had been prepared to spend most of the day researching more of their mark, Houser, and going over the con of portraying Mr. and Mrs. Grey. There were still details that needed to be planned out and a script to be constructed if they were going to pull this off without so much as a hitch. There was too much riding on this operation and if it failed—

No, Sebastian could not think like that. 

This was his plan, and it was going to go his way or nowhere at all.

And at the moment, it appeared that it was not going his way. 

Jacob Frye had ruined those meticulously crafted plans with the suggestion of “exploring the city”. He was hell-bent on experiencing Paris, and now, here he was. Standing outside a tavern with his closest friend and a man he had only met not even a month ago (and who was starting to become more of a nuisance every time they so much as shared the same space). 

A terribly handsome nuisance who liked to poke at his buttons just to get a rile out of him. 

But Sebastian was better than that. He was much stronger than that. 

Well, at least so he liked to tell himself.

And at that very moment, despite every thread in his body screaming at him to run, Sebastian reluctantly allowed himself to be tugged into the tavern where it had already come to life. When they walked through the doors, no one even acknowledged them. The patrons were already occupied with either drinks or company.

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek to stop the pleading noise from escaping past his lips. He could feel it trying  to claw itself out of his chest but he pushed it down as far as it would allow him. 

This was going to end horribly, he said to himself. as he watched in complete and utter horror at the display of Jacob Frye standing on top of one of the many tables, singing loudly and off-key to an old sea shanty that would have made his own mother blush. He dropped his head into the palm of his hand and groaned. 

This was not what he had in mind. 

This was hardly covert. This was far from it! And he was complacent in all of it!

“I think this is the most fun I’ve had in ages,” Juliette shouted in his ear, and he resisted the urge to glare daggers. 

“You and I have very different definitions of fun!” Sebastian shouted back with a twisted scowl.

Juliette, who was now sitting beside him, rolled her eyes and clapped her hands along to the fierce and repetitive stomping of the growing crowd. Soon, everyone in the tavern was cheering, roping partners into their embrace, and laughing to Jacob’s (and surprisingly not as terrible) singing. Somehow, being drunk granted the annoying thorn in his side the gift of carrying a tune. 

“O’ the winds were foul and the sea ran high, leave her Johnny, leave her,” the crowd cried along to the shifting music. “She shipped it green and none went by, and it's time for us to leave her!”

Sebastian turned to Juliette only to find her missing and that she too had joined the crowd. He opened his mouth to protest but froze when Jacob hauled her onto the table he was standing on and the pair continued to crow like drunken fools. And Sebastian felt his cheeks grow hot as he watched Jacob spin Juliette around, her skirts twirling and whirling with each sway of her hips. 

If they were in London this would have caused quite the scandal. But they were thousands of miles away and in the City of Lights, where anything could happen. 

“I thought you hated dancing,” a long-forgotten voice whispered in his ear. Hands on his hips, dragging him to a firm and solid chest. A warm breath tickling his neck as lips nipped at his throat—

Sebastian felt something strike him in the chest. I do. I do hate dancing but—

Jacob pulled Juliette into his arms, crooning in her ear, causing her to laugh and smack him playfully. 

A pang of jealousy shot through Sebastian. 

An envious voice chuckled in his ear. That could be you, they whispered. Wrapped up in those strong arms of his. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Sebastian could almost hear the jealousy dripping from their lips, like rain from the skies. He quickly pushed those roving thoughts aside and turned his head away from the “performance”. Well, if you could even call it that. 

The singing continued to grow in volume as they sang another verse before dipping back into the chorus, “ Leave her, Johnny, leave her! O’, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow, and it's time for us to leave her!”

The song ended with a rousing chorus of cheers and Sebastian did turn his attention back to Juliette and Jacob. To his surprise, Juliette had gone off to mingle at the bar, chatting with a Parisian woman with midnight black hair, dressed in dark purple, and deep olive skin. He felt a strangled noise crawl up the back of his throat. He rose to stand but immediately sat back down as Jacob approached him, his forehead shining under the lights of the tavern. His chest was moving up and down, his lips curled back into a wide grin, and eyes bright—likely because of the alcohol. 

“You look like you’re certainly enjoying yourself!” Sebastian shouted over the singing and music. 

“I’d have more fun if you’d join me up there!” Jacob laughed, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to one of the unoccupied tables. 

“Me?” His cheeks flushed. He struggled to find the words, shaking his head, averting his eyes elsewhere. “I don’t know if—”

Sebastian peered over Jacob’s broad shoulder and was surprised to see that Juliette had dragged the Parisian woman onto the floor. The two were dancing and singing to their heart’s content, laughing along to the music.

His own heart clenched at the sight. He was envious to see his friend so happy and free. She had no responsibilities. No expectations. She could live her life as she saw fit; and he? Well, he was the only son of a wealthy aristocrat. This was not a life he would ever have the chance to live. He had expectations. Responsibilities. A sense of duty to his family—

But not tonight, that mocking voice purred. Tonight, you can be free. Tonight, you are not Lord Emerson’s son. And you’re not the charismatic Captain Worth. Tonight, you can be anyone you want to be. So what will it be?

“Dance with me?” Jacob asked, extending his hand. 

Sebastian eyed the other man’s hand warily. This was a horrible, horrible idea, he said again. A horrible, stupid, nonsensical idea that would likely end with all three of them being locked up by local law enforcement. 

“Mr. Frye, while I’m flattered by the offer, I don’t—”

“One dance won’t kill you, Worth.”

Sebastian took in a deep breath, weighing his options. Ed would have all but dragged him to dance, ignoring his protests. But Jacob Frye was asking for him to dance. 

So, what will you do? A voice deep inside him asked. 

Will you be like Icarus and fly to the Sun? 

Or will you be just as it has always been intended for you? A man who does as he is told? The obedient son. 

After all, what is the worst that could happen?

What indeed, Sebastian mused.

“Alright, Mr. Frye, one dance.” But he lifted a single finger, adopting a stern disposition as he repeated himself. “ One. Dance.”

“You won’t regret this.” 

I hope you are right.

Lips curling up into a faint smile, Sebastian took a long swig of his brandy and took hold of Jacob’s calloused hand. Mirroring his grinning lips, Jacob tugged him along and weaved in between patrons who were still singing and dancing, but to a much different song. One that was in French but still felt the same as the old sea shanty they had sung earlier. It was thrilling and made Sebastian feel alive, a new fire igniting in his veins and making his toes curl in his boots. 

Jacob climbed onto the table first before turning and reaching down to assist him. Sebastian allowed himself to be brought up onto the table and just as the song ended, another one quickly began. Sebastian felt Jacob’s hand fall to the small of his back and hold him steady. His body immediately stiffened at the contact, even as his own hand reached up to rest on Jacob’s shoulder. Jacob bent down to his ear and whispered, “Just follow my lead.” 

The song began as a whistle. A few notes, a lingering of a faint melody. And then once the first whistle stopped, another entered, accompanied by a flute. Sebastian blinked. Wait—had there been a flute this entire time? God, how much did he have to drink tonight?

Jacob slowly circled him, his step following the flute's notes in tandem. Sebastian felt Jacob’s hand leave his back and he turned his head to watch and analyze the other man’s movements. 

Jacob lifted an arm, his fist closed, and his other arm hiding behind his back. 

Sebastian blinked. Wait, he knew this song. He knew this dance. 

It was a duet—a love song. Old and often forgotten to most ears. It was a song that Sebastian had heard a few times throughout his travels. One that he had even taught Ed an age ago. How Jacob knew it surprised him. He could not help but ask himself if there had been a lost love that once held Jacob’s heart. 

Or a new love, that same voice whispered. 

Acting on instinct (and arguably the alcohol), Sebastian lifted his arm, mirroring Jacob’s, and crossed it against Jacob’s. And then he heard the low rumble of a male singing—

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning, and gladly ride the waves of life. If you would marry me…”

His mind, still fuzzy from the alcohol, remained solely focused on the person standing across from him: Jacob.

As they circled each other, the song began to pick up the pace as they circled, eyes still locked, and feet moving in sync to the steady thrum of the flute and fiddle. Their arms tapped against each other as they circled, switching from one arm to the other. The music swelled, more and more voices joining in. And then it was Jacob who spun and grabbed Sebastian by the hands and they began to spin, and spin, and spin until Sebastian’s own head became dizzy. 

The crowd continued to sing, whooping and hollering, as more and more couples began to join in the dance. Even Juliette and her female companion joined in, twirling and spinning—but Sebastian could only keep his eyes on Jacob. His cheeks hurt from smiling too much. And as they spun and danced, the song ended with laughter and cheers—and Jacob’s hands were resting on his hips, keeping him steady. 

The crowd erupted into applause. Jacob turned them around to face the crowd and mouthed the words; “Bow.” Nodding, Sebastian did just that, his heart still beating wildly in his chest. He bowed at the waist and felt Jacob’s hands return to his hips, grounding him. 

“I had no idea you could dance like that,” Sebastian gasped, his chest heaving.

“There’s a lot of things you’ll come to learn about me, Sebastian Worth,” Jacob grinned. His hands removed themselves from Sebastian’s hips and he hopped off the table, immediately holding up a hand for him to take.

Sebastian soon followed suit, climbing down from the table with Jacob’s aid and returning to the table he and Juliette had been sitting at, his own cheeks aflame. He firmly convinced himself it was the alcohol in his bloodstream and not how warm Jacob’s hands were on his hips. He bit his lip, turning his head away in an effort to distract himself. 

This was a job. This was hardly the time, nor the place for such ventures. Besides, Mr. Frye was likely attracted to the opposite gender. Sure, he was fine with the fact that he was attracted to men, but that did not mean that Jacob felt the same way. He was a handsome man. He could have any woman (or man) in the world. And for all he knew, Mr. Frye had someone waiting for him back in London. 

It was wishful thinking. A hopeless dream. 

“Juliette looks to be having a good time,” Jacob said, gesturing to the bar. 

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder to find the Parisian beauty from earlier now entangled in a passionate embrace with Juliette. His own cheeks flushed as he cleared his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I knew this was a horrible idea,” he muttered. 

“I’ll tell her you’re ready to leave,” Jacob laughed, patting him on the shoulder. 

Sebastian opened his mouth to protest but Jacob was already striding towards the bar to collect Juliette. He watched in horror as Jacob tapped the beautiful dark-haired woman on the shoulder and then kissed her full on the mouth. 

Shameless, Sebastian decided. This man is completely shameless.  

Juliette let out a squawk of a laugh and dragged Jacob by the wrist away from the Parisian woman and the bar who simply stood there stunned. She had not only been kissed by one lovely woman but a handsome ( stop it, Sebastian) man. Sebastian barely had the chance to scold Jacob for his behavior before Juliette forced them both out of the tavern. She wrapped her arm around his middle, leaning against him for support. 

“That was very bold of you, Mr. Frye,” Juliette said as they walked down the street. “I can honestly say that I was not expecting that!”

“I had to do something to get your attention,” Jacob replied with a sultry wink. 

Sebastian wanted nothing more than to bury his head in a bucket of sand. His head was spinning and his stomach churned with each step he took. He scrubbed at his face, the alcohol still pulsing through his veins. 

“I am never going to do that again,” he said aloud, not caring who heard him at this point. 

“You have to admit you had a good time, Sebastian,” Juliette teased. “I saw you and Mr. Frye on that table and I’m sure everyone else did too.” 

“I was, and quite frankly, am still very, very drunk,” Sebastian slurred, raising a finger. He hiccuped and pointed to himself. “And I would like to find a pillow to lay my head.” 

“Consider it done, Worth,” Jacob said with a wicked grin. 

They arrived at the flat with little difficulty, but it was no surprise that they were all tired and eager to return to their beds for the night. Juliette helped him peel off his coat and hung it on the coat rack closest to the door. 

“As much fun as this was, I am going to go to bed. Goodnight gentlemen,” Juliette said with a wave. She glided up the stairs, her shoes clacking across the floorboards all the way. And soon they heard her bedroom door creaking open before shutting again with a heavy thump. 

Sebastian wandered into the parlor and flopped onto the settee, draping one arm over his eyes. He heard the chair adjacent to him creak. He opened one eye to find Jacob sitting there and removing his coat. And there he caught a glimpse of something hiding under the other man’s sleeve. He sat up slightly and without thinking, he grabbed Jacob’s wrist and pulled the sleeve of his shirt back, revealing the bracer and blade. 

“What’s this?” he asked. 

“A hidden blade,” Jacob stated matter-of-fact.

“Why do you need it?” 

Jacob, with the most straight-face he could muster, answered, “Because I’m part of a secret Brotherhood of highly trained assassins in a centuries old conflict with egotistical, power-hungry bastards.”

Frowning, Sebastian released his grip of Jacob’s grip and laid back onto the settee again. “Are you lying to me?”

“Do you think I’m lying to you?” 

Sebastian blinked at him. “I’m not entirely sure.” 

“Try not to think about it too much. Might hurt yourself.”

“I am starting to regret not killing you…” Sebastian said, heaving a deep sigh. He waved off the other man with a flick of his own wrist. “You are an impossible bastard. Arrogant and rude, and dreadful company. I hope you had a good time tonight, Jacob Frye, and that it was everything you wished for.”

Jacob nodded his head, a similar smile gracing his lips. 

“Of course. Hey, wait, you have something—” 

Sebastian felt his body go rigid as he felt Jacob’s hand come up and brush his forehead, the edge of his nails just barely grazing his forehead. At the motion, something moved. His breath hitched as Jacob’s hand slowly lowered, revealing a single feather. Sebastian felt a surge of confusion hit him. How the bloody hell did that get there, he wondered. How did he not notice that he had a goddamn feather in his hair?

“There, got it.”

“Oh, um, thank you.”

Jacob shrugged, slipping the feather into his pocket. He bowed his head and stood up, heading for the entryway. “Night, Worth—”

“Sebastian,” he interrupted, sitting up. He blinked several times at Jacob’s back and slowly rose to his feet.

Jacob, on the other hand, glanced over his shoulder, a brow arched. 

Sebastian cleared his throat again and averted his eyes. He was not sure if it was the alcohol that flowed through his veins or the fact that he had not been with anyone in over a year that was making his heart pound furiously in his chest. 

“If you’d like, you’re more than welcome to call me Sebastian,” he said. "Every time I hear Worth, I expect to see my father in the mirror..."

Jacob’s lips turned up into a charming grin. He nodded slowly, and said, “Alright, Sebastian. Goodnight.” And with that, he disappeared through the threshold of the parlor and out of Sebastian’s line of sight. 

Sebastian heard Jacob’s footfalls go up the stairs and the sound of a door opening and then closing. He released a breath that he felt he had been holding for an age and counted down from ten. Once he made it to zero, he made a bee-line for his room. He wrenched the door open and shut his door, pressing his back against the hardwood. His head thumbed against the door and eyes slowly slid shut. He could still feel the alcohol rushing through his bloodstream, igniting his veins and setting them ablaze. 

He sucked in a deep breath. 

Bloody fuck what had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Text

nine: Jacob

April 20, 1868

The morning after their eventful ‘exploration’ of Paris, Jacob woke with his head pounding and muscles aching in places he was not aware they could. With a moan, he rubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes, sparking dots across his vision. He slowly blinked his eyes open, adjusting to the light that filtered through the sheer curtains. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled. He must’ve neglected to pull the heavier set of curtains last night when he stumbled into his room. Not that he remembered much of last night anyway. He did recall dragging Sebastian onto a table and— oh. He got Sebastian to dance. And it was a refreshing take on Sebastian’s hardened exterior. He thought of Sebastian’s flushed cheeks, wide smile, and eyes bright and staring at him as they spun around. 

A warm feeling bloomed inside his chest, a feeling he had never felt before. 

Jacob ran his thumb over his bottom lip. When he drew it back there was rouge still there. Ah, right. He kissed Juliette’s companion. Snorting to himself, he blindly grabbed for his trousers and shirt, grumbling as he rolled out of bed and nearly found himself face down onto the hardwood floor. 

He eventually managed his way out of his room, scrubbing at his two-day stubble (and the leftover rouge), and made for the bathroom to take care of his protesting bladder and the grit on his face. After  washing his hands and face, he walked—more like staggered— down the stairs, yawning and stretching his arms over his head, cracking his lower back and neck. 

He passed the parlor and then immediately paused when he took note of Juliette, dressed, hair drawn back by a ribbon, and standing in front of a similar display he had seen aboard The Kestrel.

“I think I might be still dreaming,” he muttered aloud. 

“Ah, good morning, Mr. Frye,” Juliette greeted.

“You’re incredibly too cheerful this morning,” Jacob grumbled, his own hangover still making his head throb intensely. He rubbed at his temples and reached for one of the cups of what he prayed was coffee—

He took a sip and sighed in relief. Ah, yes—coffee. Blessed, sweet coffee. He could drown himself in this glorious liquid for weeks if allowed. He breathed in the strong aroma and sat down in one of the jewel-toned velvet settees in the parlor. 

“Yes, well, I wanted to get an early start,” Juliette stated, folding her arms over her chest with a pointed look. 

“Bloody fucking hells, you really thought this one out,” Jacob mused over the blueprints and sketches of Houser’s Parisian flat. The design was similar to Sebastian’s, but those gathered around the table knew that there were secrets in those walls. And they were going to expose those secrets one way or another. “How’d you manage to get a hold of these?” 

“A lady never reveals her secrets, monsieur .” 

“So you slept with someone?” he asked without a moment’s hesitation. 

“ Correction : I slept with someone’s daughter.” 

Damn. 

“How long have you been working on this?” he asked. 

“Shortly after you and Seb went to bed.”

“Did you even sleep?” 

“For a while, but then I couldn’t. Too much excitement, I’m afraid. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to go to bed… again.”

She stretched her arms over her head, popping her back and then making her way to the stairs. She quickly paused at the first step and sharply turned back to Jacob. “Oh, I almost forgot, could you wake Seb for me? I’ve already prepared tea. It’s in the kitchen—”

Jacob raised a hand to stop her. “Don’t worry, I think I can handle waking him up.”

“Be careful. He might throw a pillow or two at you, in protest” Juliette laughed. 

“He already threw a knife at me and missed. I think I’m safe.”

She waved him off  and walked up the stairs, disappearing from view. 

Jacob returned to finishing his coffee before abandoning the parlor and retreating to the kitchen where (just as Juliette had stated) a kettle of tea was waiting. He placed his hand on the back of the kettle, feeling the heat still radiating. 

Jacob knocked on Sebastian’s door not long after. At first there was no response. Not even a moan or groan. Frowning, he tried again, albeit a bit harder. But just as the first time, he received no response. He laid his hand on the doorknob and gave it an experimental turn—and to his shock, it opened. 

“Sebastian?” he called out. He took another step into the room—a board creaked under his weight. He inwardly flinched as his eyes drew up to the bed in the center of the room—and the mass that was buried under all the blankets. He rose to his full height and folded his arms over his chest. 

“Worth? You awake?” he tried again. 

He earned a muffled groan in response. He snorted, shaking his head. So, Sebastian Worth was not a morning person. Who would have thought. 

Jacob approached the bed, sidestepping around the pile of clothing near the foot of the bed. He did not sit, fearing he could sit on Sebastian’s hand or something else. He laid his own hand on top of the blanketed mass and gave it a firm shake. 

“Time to wake up, Worth,” he said. 

“Five more minutes, Juliette,” Sebastian muttered. He dragged his head from under the covers, eyes half-lidded and still heavy from sleep. His lips turned down into a frown, brows furrowing. “You’re not Juliette.”

Jacob snorted, twisting his expression to appear offended.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

He watched as Sebastian’s cheeks flushed bright red. He sat up, his hair a disheveled mess, stumbling to find his words. 

“I didn’t mean to sound—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted with a shrug of his shoulders. He pointed to the door. “She’s been up all night working and is going to bed. You and I are going to go downstairs and get a head start on Houser.”

Sebastian muttered a curse and threw back the duvet. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grumbling, “Why didn’t she wake me?” He forced himself out of the bed and stalked to his wardrobe to dress himself for the day. 

Jacob retreated to the door, lingering as he watched Sebastian dress. He kept his eyes on the back of Sebastian’s head for the most part. However, he did catch himself occasionally drifting down to catch a glimpse of Sebastian’s bare back. A very… muscular back in fact. Lean muscles with sharp angles and no signs of scarring or faded bruises—well, except for the obvious one in the back of his shoulder where his bullet had caught Sebastian. It was an ugly mark, still healing. The edges of the scar beginning to fade from flushed red to a lighter shade.

You did that to him, a voice harshly accused. You fired your gun and shot him, and now he is—

Still Sebastian Worth. Still the son of Emerson Worth. Still that dramatic airship captain. Still a man with secrets of his own. 

Jacob involuntarily licked his lips. Don’t flirt with him, Evie had scolded him. 

Jacob was eager to wave off his sister’s voice in his ear. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes again. He heard clothes rustling and the snapping of buttons. He took a deep breath and then turned to find Sebastian dressed—and wearing that jewel-toned frock coat that he wanted to rip from Sebastian’s sculpted frame and throw it onto the floor…

Fuck this is going to be difficult.

“Shall we?” Sebastian said, gesturing to the door. 

“Jacob, you will be acting as Mr. Grey—”

“Do I have to?” 

Sebastian looked at him with furrowed brows. “Yes. If I were to play the part, Houser would likely recognize me, and we cannot risk that. But not to worry, I will teach you everything there is to know about being a proper gentleman,” he said. 

Jacob arched a brow, a teasing smile stretching across his lips. “ Everything? ” he repeated. 

A flush quickly appeared over the bridge of Sebastian’s nose and traveled to his cheeks. Sebastian opened his mouth and then quickly closed it. 

Jacob smirked. He had him now. He watched as Sebastian cleared his throat, the flush still blooming. 

The reaction was not unexpected. In fact, it was almost endearing. 

Sebastian turned to him and held out a hand. 

“Let’s just start with introductions, shall we?” 

April 23, 1868

The plan was simple. A covert operation that even the Brotherhood would be proud of. He and Juliette would play the part of a young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Grey, looking to hire a young maid to aid them in taking care of their recently inherited home. Back in London, they had already reached out to Mr. Houser, doting on how they had heard he could provide them with a suitable maid who would come back to London with them. 

Jacob held his “gentleman” lessons with Sebastian every morning, learning the dos and don’ts of conversation and appealing to Houser’s ego. And while he enjoyed watching Sebastian’s cheeks gain color every time their hands brushed, deep down he hated that he was meant to end in Houser’s good graces. 

But such was the job. 

And after exchanging a few letters over the next several days, Mr. Houser scheduled a meeting. He suggested they meet at one of the parks near his office where they could discuss what they wanted in a maid.

And that was where Jacob currently found himself. Sitting on a park bench with Juliette and waiting (impatiently) for Houser to arrive. His eyes flicked down to the pocket watch Sebastian had loaned him. 

“You are going to raise suspicion if you keep acting like that,” Juliette murmured.

“Acting like what?” he responded. 

“Jumpy and agité .” 

Jacob’s face twisted up, clearly offended. His voice dropped low as he spat out, “I’m not jumpy.” 

“You are acting like you do not belong here.”

Because I don’t! a voice wanted to scream. 

Jacob forced himself not to scoff. He shook his head, grumbling under his breath as he adjusted the hat on his head. He was not jumpy. Or whatever else Juliette had said to him. He glanced across the street where Sebastian was sitting on one of the benches. He had a paper in his hands and appeared to be reading, but Sebastian was doing more than just that. 

“I really don’t like this,” he said. 

“Neither do I,” Juliette hummed in agreement. “But we often do things that are unpleasant and uncomfortable and are still expected to hold our tongues. It is not the best practice, but we do what we must.” 

Jacob bit the inside of his cheek. He pondered over Juliette’s words. His eyes shifted over to Sebastian again. Was she talking about herself or Sebastian?

“I need your help with something,” he said, his eyes scanning over the park. His gaze drifted to the cross-stitch in her hands.

Juliette did not look up from her cross-stitch. “ Oui ?” 

“I want you to teach me some French. Just a few phrases to get by.” 

Jacob watched as Juliette’s curious expression turned sour. She paused from her cross-stitch, her gloved hands stilling. She narrowed her eyes at him, slowly folding her arms over her chest. She arched her brow higher. 

“Why?”

“Because we’re in Paris and I have no experience with the language,” he said.

“And there is no other reason?” she asked him. 

Yes.

“No.” 

Juliette hummed again. She uncrossed her arms and quickly returned to her cross-stitch. 

“Very well,” she said. “I will consider your proposal—”

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Grey, I presume?” a voice spoke. 

Jacob’s head snapped up, his fingers instinctively reaching to trigger the hidden blade under his sleeve. Standing before them was Benjamin Houser. The picture they had did little to disguise the man, and was frankly an accurate description. He was a portly man with a thick mustache and thinning gray hair. Beady eyes that sunk deep into his skull and thick sausage like fingers that were gripping the lapels of his coat. He was dressed very well for someone of his status—but Jacob saw right through the facade. Houser was a man who wanted to impress people. He wanted to make people believe he was important and capable. 

And someone to be respected. 

Hmph, not likely. 

No amount of tailoring and grooming could hide the slimy nature that hid under those clothes. 

Houser stuck out his large hand. “Benjamin Houser,” he said. “A pleasure to meet you both. I do apologize for my tardiness. There was an issue at the office that required my immediate attention.” 

“Likewise,” Jacob said through gritted teeth. He shook Houser’s sweaty hand and fought the urge to wipe it on his pants. He had a part to play. He had to keep up appearances and keep Houser interested. 

“We both understand that you are a busy man, monsieur . We are grateful that you are taking the time to meet with us,” Juliette said, laying on the charm thick as a syrup. 

Houser gestured to one of the park’s walking paths. “Shall we walk and discuss what it is you are requiring?” 

Jacob forced himself not to lunge forward and wrap his hands around Houser’s meaty neck and strangle the man to death. His body tensed up, stiffening as Juliette laid a hand on his arm. She offered him a gentle pat. 

“That sounds wonderful, Monsieur Houser,” Juliette practically purred. “Do lead on.”

Houser took the lead on initiating the topic of searching for a maid. He assured them that he had a few young girls who would fit the job perfectly. He asked them dozens of questions about age, color of their skin, height, weight, etc. And as each question poured from Houser’s lips, Jacob’s own stomach turned. But he could not show any distaste. 

Although he was beginning to regret not letting Sebastian be the one in his shoes. Sebastian was a born aristocrat and could walk and talk like the men and women Houser so desperately wanted to fit in with. 

So, he kept his conversation with Houser short—just as he would any target. He answered Houser’s questions with Juliette providing her own input as well. To his surprise, Houser bought it all. Perhaps Sebastian was a half-decent teacher after all. And after what felt like an age, their meeting was over and Houser informed them that he would look into his records and see about finding a “good fit”. Juliette gave Houser another address that was the home of one of the crew of The Kestrel; and then Houser was on his way. 

“Bloody hell that was a nightmare,” he muttered once Houser had left. 

Juliette patted his arm assuringly again. “You did just fine.” 

“I feel like I need to wash my hands with acid.” 

“But who would hold Sébastién’s hand?” 

Jacob fixed Juliette with a pointed scowl as Sebastian approached them. 

“I am sorry you had to deal with that,” Sebastian said, tucking his newspaper under his arm. “But from my perspective, you performed wonderfully. Houser clearly bought our story—”

“And now he’s gone back to find a maid for us.” 

“Reggie has already taken the liberty of following Houser. He should return in a few hours to report back. Let us go back to the flat and have a more private conversation, yes?”

Sebastian already began to walk away, appearing eager to return to the flat. Jacob watched the other man leave, his eyes still zeroed in on Sebastian’s back.

“I see what you’re doing,” Juliette said once Sebastian was out of hearing range. 

Jacob stilled his movements. He slowly glanced over his shoulder to see Juliette eyeing him crossly. Much like his sister would after he’d returned home drunk and empty pockets. He turned to face her, folding his arms over his chest. 

“You want to elaborate?” he asked. 

“You are flirting with Sébastién,” she said, drawing up beside him. She tapped his arm, forcing him to uncross his arms. She threaded her arm through his and the two began walking again. “And you are not doing a very good job at it either.” 

Jacob clenched his jaw. Damn, Juliette was good. She would make a great Assassin, he quietly mused as her eyes narrowed. His lips pulled back into a smirk. 

“And what if I am?” 

“Then I strongly suggest you stop leading him on or you might wake up with a needle in your eye,” Juliette warned without batting an eye. “I may not be a Master Assassin but I am quite handy with a blade.” 

"Sebastian is a grown man who can make his own decisions,” Jacob argued. “He doesn't need—”

“You have no idea what he needs, monsieur .”

“And do you? Do you know what he needs?” 

Juliette’s cheeks turned an angry shade of red. “I am trying to protect my friend from people like you.” 

“People like me?” Jacob laughed. 

“Yes, people like you. Liars and manipulators who only had their own interests in mind. They come, woo Sébastién, and then leave him heartbroken and ruined!” 

Jacob’s ears perked. Another? So someone had hurt Sebastian once before. He felt a surge of something bubble under his skin. Wait, was that jealousy? Or something more in the protective department? Well, whatever it was, he could not afford to feel it now. 

Is that what he told you? He wanted to ask. That his last lover had left him willingly? Or did you read the papers too?

“And you plan to stop me?”

Juliette puffed out her chest and scowled. “If I need to, I will,” she huffed. “So, I strongly suggest you rethink your motives accordingly, Monsieur Frye. You may not like what will happen if you don’t.” She lifted her skirts and once they were out of the park, she removed her arm from his. She angrily brushed past him and then she was already catching up with Sebastian. He watched the two loop their arms together and continue to the waiting carriage.  

Jacob tilted his head back to the sky, shaking his head. His mind drifted to the article he had read in London. The name of the body that was found was Ed Mercer. He was only 23 at the time of his death. And from what he had deduced, he was likely involved with Sebastian in not only a professional setting, but a romantic one too. 

Someone had Mercer killed to teach Sebastian a lesson, he mused. And as a betting man himself, he could only suspect that Lord Worth was behind it. 

Less than a day after their meeting with Houser, Mr. and Mrs. Grey received another letter from Houser. He explained that after careful consideration he found them two suitable maids and wanted to set up a meeting at his office for Thursday afternoon. Jacob’s stomach twisted at the thought as he read over the fancy script. He handed the letter to Sebastian, their fingers barely brushing, and then disappeared to his room. 

He was not in the mood to deal with Houser.

Hours passed with him throwing one of his knives into an overstuffed pillow over and over again. Feathers spurted from the holes, scattering all over the room. He made a mental note to clean it up later. But for now, he was more than content to fling his dagger into the pillow. Eventually, he wandered back down the stairs and found Sebastian and Juliette waiting for him. 

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I hope you don’t—”

Sebastian stopped him by laying a hand on his forearm. 

“I hate him just as much as you do. And we are going to put an end to this. So, don’t apologize.”

Juliette agreed to the meeting for the following Friday, however, she changed the meeting place to a quaint little café a reasonable distance from Houser’s flat. She stated in her letter to Houser that her ‘husband’ would not be joining them on the account of work. She claimed that there was a large project at the firm that required Jacob’s presence—and thus giving him the perfect excuse to sneak into Houser’s flat with Sebastian.

And when Friday arrived, Jacob sat in the parlor, watching Juliette adjust her dress and gloves in the floor length mirror Sebastian had set up for her.

“I could kiss you, Juliette,” he said as Juliette tied her hair back with a ribbon. She donned on her gloves and smoothed out the front of her vibrant purple dress. 

“While I am very flattered, I am going to have to decline,” Juliette replied. 

“Already spoken for?” 

“Not quite,” Sebastian spoke as he entered the parlor. 

His curls were messy, as if he had just woken from a nap. But his shirt, pants, and waistcoat were neatly pressed without any wrinkles to speak of. And those fucking pants, a dark charcoal grey, hugged Sebastian’s thighs beautifully. 

Jacob felt his fingers twitch. His mouth went dry as his eyes raked up the length of the tapered pants Sebastian wore. God above he would kill to know what Sebastian looked like under those pants…. Or under him for the matter— Jacob snapped his mouth shut and sat up straighter. Where the bloody fuck did that come from? He cleared his throat and averted his eyes. 

“Care to explain, Juliette?” Sebastian said, his tone tearing through his fantasy.

“What he means to say is that I prefer the company of women, and not men,” Juliette answered. “Now, if you two are done, I am off to have dinner with Houser. Pray for me, will you?”

“You will be in my thoughts, my dear.” 

Juliette and Sebastian exchanged their goodbyes, and she departed from the flat, leaving the two men to finish their own preparations. Jacob tightened his bracer, checking the mechanics of it to ensure that there would be no issues. He glanced up to see Sebastian now sitting on the settee, forearms braced against the top of his thighs. The other man looked to be in deep thought, but there was something else weighing heavily on his mind. 

“Sebastian?” he called out. 

“Hmm?”

“Are you ready?” 

There was a brief pause. He sensed hesitation. And for a moment, Jacob wondered if Sebastian was having second thoughts. But that was quickly dashed when Sebastian nodded once and stood up again. 

“Right,” Sebastian whispered. “Let’s go see what Mr. Houser is hiding.”

Chapter Text

ten: Jacob

Sneaking into Houser’s flat was easier than Jacob expected. He figured there would be some measure of security but to his surprise there was none. The flat itself was ordinary. Plain-looking and unassuming, as they had expected. Houser may want to draw attention to himself with his attire, his business, and friends, but not to his home. Especially not when heinous things were happening on the inside. 

Jacob picked the lock on the front door with ease and the two of them passed over the threshold. They split up, searching the main floor of the house. Sebastian took to the parlor while Jacob went into the library. He searched the one desk in the room and found most of the drawers to be empty. And if there were any papers, none of them were important. Inventory notes at one of Houser’s factories, invoices from different vendors, employment records… 

Well, this could be useful, he said to himself. He took a page from one of the employment records, not even bothering to read through it and tucked it into one of his pockets. He could read that for later. But for now, there was still an entire flat to search and Juliette could only keep Houser busy for so long.  

He moved on from the library and met Sebastian in the parlor. The other man was crouched down over something Jacob could not see—but he did have a very interesting view of Sebastian’s arse. 

“Find anything?” he asked, his eyes roaming over the other man’s thighs. Ah, shit, fuck—stop. He blinked suddenly and averted his eyes. 

“Nothing yet,” Sebastian answered, rising to his feet. He wiped his hands on the front of his pants, shaking his head. “Juliette said that her friend saw movement on the second floor just yesterday. Perhaps he has another office upstairs?” 

Jacob shrugged. It wasn’t a horrible suggestion. He opened his mouth but then he heard something creak above them. He lifted a finger, silencing Sebastian.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered. 

Sebastian shook his head again and opened his mouth to speak. Jacob pressed his finger to Sebastian’s lips and pointed up at the ceiling. They stood in silence, waiting and listening. And there it was—feet walking across the floor above them. 

They were not alone in the house. 

“You don’t think…” Sebastian began to say, his breath ghosting over his finger. 

Jacob had to muster everything inside him not to shiver. 

“I wouldn’t put it past Houser,” he said. He removed his finger from Sebastian’s lips, a chill shooting up his spine. He jerked his head towards the entryway. “Follow me.”

With Sebastian following close behind, Jacob took the lead and carefully went up the stairs. They stopped on the second floor and checked all the rooms upstairs. But there was no one. Houser’s bedroom was unmade and appeared to not have been slept in for at least a few days. 

“There’s no one here,” Sebastian whispered. 

“I know what I heard,” Jacob said. “Someone else is in this house…” His eyes scanned around before looking up—and there he found it. A pull-down for the attic. He turned his head to Sebastian, lips predictably curling up into a smirk. “Oh, I love it when I’m right.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Sebastian snorted, rolling his eyes. 

Jacob reached up and pulled down on the string. The ladder creaked and squeaked—and both men flinched at the sound. It did not sound loud enough to warn anyone, but if someone was in the attic, it was likely they heard it. 

They climbed up the ladder, Jacob in the lead, and then stopped—there in front of them was a door. The circular window to their left glowed under the setting sun, cascading a shimmery array of colors through the glass.

“What do you suppose is behind that door?” Sebastian whispered. 

“I don’t know,” he answered. “But only one way to find out.”

Jacob approached the door, crouched down again, and dug out his lock picks. He worked on the lock, biting his lip in concentration. And with a careful flick of his wrist, he heard the lock click. It was a beautiful sound that made his veins sing with excitement. He stood up and gestured for Sebastian to take the lead. 

“After you,” he said. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Sebastian asked. 

Jacob shrugged. He was a trained Assassin. He could climb great heights and jump from them without a second thought. He could kill a man with just an easy twist of his wrist. He could disappear into crowds and blend in without getting caught by his enemy. There were many things he could do—but one thing he could not do came to mind. 

“I’m absolute shit when it comes to making tea.” 

Sebastian snorted and then opened the door—and immediately stood rooted in the threshold. Jacob peered over Sebastian’s shoulder, his own eyes widening in shock. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. 

Huddled in the farthest corner of the room was a girl. Her skin was a deep shade of brown, her dark eyes darting around the room. She opened her mouth to scream but Sebastian immediately shut the door behind them.

“S'il te plaît! Ne me fais pas de mal! Je serai bon! Je promets!” the girl spilled out in French. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she attempted to back her body further and further into the corner. “S'il te plaît! Je serai une gentille fille!” 

“Can you tell us your name?” Jacob asked the obviously frightened child. 

She looked wildly between them, her fingers clutching her shawl so tight her knuckles became white. She muttered a few words he could not understand—likely in French. His eyes shifted to Sebastian. This was more of his territory. 

“I don’t think she can understand me,” he whispered. “Mind giving it a go?”

“My French isn’t the best, but I can at least try,” Sebastian sighed. He knelt down in front of the girl who only cowered further into the corner she’d backed herself into.

“C'est d'accord. C'est d'accord,” Sebastian said in better French than Jacob could ever attempt. He pointed to himself and then gestured to him. “Je m'appelle Sébastien. C'est mon ami Jacob. Peux-tu nous dire ton nom?”

“Ver-Verity. Je m’appelle Verity.”

“Verity, bien, bien. Ah, uhm, shit, I really wish Juliette was here right now,” Sebastian muttered. He tapped his fingers nervously on his leg. “ Sais tu où tu es? ”

The girl, Verity, as they had learned, shook her head.

“We have to do something,” Jacob said without missing a beat. 

“And we will,” Sebastian assured him. “We just need to—”

Jacob didn’t even give Sebastian the chance to finish his statement. His eyes still remained on the frightened girl cowering in the corner. “Do you think she’ll let us take her?”

“Take her? Where?” 

“To the flat. Juliette can probably find out where she lives—”

Sebastian was quick to interrupt. “ If she even has a family, Jacob!” he protested. “We don’t even know that part!”

Jacob clenched his jaw. He looked down at the girl— the child, he reminded himself—and in an instant, his mind had already been made up. She was never going to go to London; not on his watch. No, she was going to stay in Paris. Her home. Where she belonged. Consequences be damned. He knelt down and held out his hand. 

“I understand you’re scared, but we’re not going to hurt you,” he said. “The man who brought you here can’t hurt you anymore, understand? We’re going to get you home.” 

“Jacob—”

Without warning, Verity sobbed something in French and then clammored into Jacob’s waiting arms. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, quietly crying. He could feel the tears staining his shirt collar and neck, but he hardly gave a damn. Shirts could be washed. But whatever Verity had experienced in Houser’s flat could not be so easily washed away. 

“What are you doing?” Sebastian hissed. 

“Getting her out of here,” he said. “Are you coming?” 

“Houser will know she's gone missing—” 

"And we'll be long gone before he can find her,” he insisted. His eyes flicked down to Verity. His nose was hit by an unknown smell. At first, he thought it was smoke or ash. But he knew it had to be something different. He then shifted his gaze to meet Sebastian’s. There was fear in his eyes. A fear of being caught. Of being exposed. He understood Sebastian’s fears, but this was something he could not ignore. His tone turned pleading. “Please don’t make me ask again.”

Silence passed between them. And then finally, Sebastian nodded. He could sense the rising tension that oozed from Sebastian’s rigid shoulders. The warring thoughts that were likely battling in his mind. 

“Very well,” Sebastian sighed. “We’ll do it your way, Mr. Frye.”

Jacob felt the formality of his name sting. He did not expect to sting the way it did, but it still hurt. Swallowing hard, he watched as Sebastian turned on his heel and left. Sucking in a deep breath and exhaling through his nose, he adjusted Verity in his arms and followed after Sebastian. 

To his amazement, Verity was silent on the walk back to the flat. About half-way to the flat, she had stopped crying and fallen asleep in his arms. His muscles protested at the now dead-weight in his arms. Sebastian offered to hold Verity for the remainder of their journey, but Jacob ignored him. And when they returned to the flat, the sun had set and Juliette was arriving from her meeting with Houser.  

Her eyes immediately widened as she pointed to Verity sleeping in his arms. 

“What happened?” she asked as Sebastian unlocked the door to the flat and they all went inside.

“We found her in Houser’s attic,” Sebastian said, stomping into the parlor. He ripped off his coat and threw it onto the settee. “ Fucking hells, I need to scrub myself clean of that awful place.” 

Sebastian then tromped up the stairs, ignoring Juliette’s plea for him to return. She carded a hand through her hair and met his gaze. 

“Mr. Frye—”

“Her name is Verity and I think she has a family,” he said, cutting her off. “Do you think you could—” 

“ Oui, oui,” Juliette said. She reached out to brush a stray coil that framed Verity’s face. She eased Verity out of his arms and into hers and smiled at him. “ Mon dieu, the poor girl. I’ll take her to my room. Try to rest, Jacob.”

I’m not sure if I can, he thought. 

Nodding, Jacob stood rooted in the parlor, his boots feeling like they had been submerged in mud. Try as he might, he could not move his feet. There was no sense in even trying. After some time had passed, he eventually forced himself up the stairs to his room and sat down at the writing desk. He stared at the blank sheets of paper and ink wells that almost felt like they were mocking him. Sighing, he plucked up a quill and began writing to Evie of their progress.

Before he knew it, he had written several pages and his hand had started to cramp. He signed his name at the bottom and folded the letter into an envelope. He made a mental note to send it off in the morning. He flexed his fingers and began to rub out the tight knots that had found themselves under his skin. 

He tucked the letter into his shirt pocket and went back downstairs to find Sebastian curled up on one of the settees. 

He stopped short of the threshold. From where he stood, Sebastian looked… defeated. His hair still appeared to be damp and he was in a deep emerald green dressing gown. 

He couldn't help but wonder why Sebastian had returned to the parlor. Why not go straight to bed? Sebastian held a glass of what he imagined was some kind of alcohol and had his knuckles propping up his chin. The amber color of the alcohol could only mean Sebastian was drinking either whisky or brandy. His eyes were fixated on the glowing embers of the fire that snapped and crackled before him. 

Jacob knocked on the side of the threshold, careful not to startle Sebastian. 

“You alright?” he asked, stepping into the parlor. 

Sebastian lifted his head, turning to face him. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” was the quiet response. “I thought maybe drinking might provide some kind of clarity.” 

“And has it?” 

Sebastian downed his drink and shook his head. “No,” he answered. "Not really. Now I'm just starting to feel a tad drunk."

A beat of silence passed between them. 

“You were right, you know.”

“About?”

“Verity,” Sebastian said as he swirled his now empty glass of bourbon. He placed the glass on the coffee table. “She has a family. Juliette managed to coax an address out of Verity and took her home to reunite her with her family. She left not too long ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear them.”

Jacob sighed and settled down next to Sebastian. “I was… writing to my sister,” he said. He knocked his knee with Sebastian’s. “But, we got her out, that’s the important part.”

"But there are others just like her back in London,” Sebastian protested. He carded a hand through his hair, his fingers curling around the ends. He turned to him, eyes filled with unshed tears. The very sight made Jacob’s heart tighten in his chest. “Jacob, these girls are trapped. Caged. A prisoner in a strange place with no friends, no family, and—”

“But Verity has a family,” he said, swallowing hard. Instinctively, he reached out and laid a hand onto Sebastian’s shoulder. He gave it an assuring squeeze. “And she’s with them now because of what you did. You got her out of there.” 

Sebastian’s eyes softened. His eyes flicked down to the hand on his shoulder. “I think you mean you got her out of there. I just stood there, doubting your decision. I don't think I would've been as brave as you.”

"I doubt that."

Jacob visibly watched Sebastian take a breath and a few tears slipped out. He lifted his own hand and wiped them away. He cupped Sebastian’s cheek, thumb resting just under his eye. 

He heard the slightest hitch in Sebastian’s breathing. He felt Sebastian relax under his palm, leaning into the touch. Unable to stop himself, he brushed his thumb over Sebastian's cheek. He noted Sebastian’s hand slowly covering over his own. His previous assumption about Sebastian's hands was wrong. They were soft, but there were calluses too. Not like his own; but there were definitely not the hands of an aristocrat. 

His eyes flicked up to meet Sebastian’s gaze, just inches away from his nose. 

Was he—was he leaning in—

“Jacob—” his breath was just near his lips. 

The front door of the flat opened, and Sebastian immediately dropped his hand as if he had been burned. Jacob lowered his own hand to rest on his knee. He watched as Sebastian turned to greet Juliette as she entered the parlor, her cheeks tinted pink from the evening chill. 

“Juliette, how’s Verity?” Sebastian asked, rising to his feet.

“Safe and happy to be home with her parents,” Juliette sighed, hanging up her shawl and gloves. She began untying her hair from its ribbon. “They wanted to personally thank the gentlemen responsible for bringing her home, but I explained to them that my employer would rather be kept anonymous.”

Jacob's gaze shifted to Sebastian. He noticed how quickly he had tensed up before instantly relaxing. That was one of Sebastian's stipulations: no one could know he was involved. 

"Good, good," Sebastian said. 

“Sebastian,” Jacob started to say. 

“I’m going to bed,” was the hurried response. “I’ll see you both in the morning. Goodnight.” Sebastian immediately shoved himself away from the table and made a bee-line for the stairs. 

Jacob heaved a sigh, dropping his head and shutting his eyes. From the threshold of the room, Juliette clucked her tongue with a chuckle. 

“You are doing a poor job at this whole flirting business," she said. 

Jacob arched a brow. What was she playing at? He leaned back, eyeing her suspiciously. 

"I thought you wanted me to stay away from him."

“And you mentioned that you wanted to learn French because of the job, no other reason, oui ?”

Jacob ran his tongue over the back of his teeth. He nodded once—he was damn sure that Juliette saw through his lies. She may not be part of the Brotherhood, but she was aware of their methods. Their secrets. Their traditions. And she likely knew that he was not asking for her aide just for this mission alone. 

The grin on Juliette’s lips turned wicked. There was a familiar glint in her eye that made Jacob suddenly very nervous. 

“Very well, let us start with a few of the basics, shall we?” 

Jacob inwardly groaned. Fuck, this was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

eleven: Sebastian

Sebastian’s heart was beating wildly in his chest as he made his way up the stairs and darted into his room. He closed the door behind him, back pressed against the hardwood of his door. He closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath and then pushed his body away and towards the bed. 

They had almost kissed. He had almost kissed Jacob Frye, and he made no effort to stop it from happening. It was so close. Too close. 

He was becoming careless in his actions. He had to maintain composure. He could not falter from the task at hand. He could not—

And why not? Why not see what happens? What is the worst that could happen?

You deserve to be happy. You deserve to feel important. To feel lo—

No. Don’t. Don’t say that word. That was a forbidden word. It no longer had a place in his vocabulary, let alone his life. 

An image of the picture drawn so cruelly of Ed’s body flashed in his mind… only the face was different. This time it was Jacob’s face. Eyes open, bloodshot, staring up at the sky, mouth agape, and lifeless. Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

DEAD.

Sebastian shuddered at the thought. No. No, he would not make the same mistake twice. He would not. He would not have another man die for him. Not again.

Sighing, Sebastian climbed under the covers and rolled onto his side, facing away from the door. He willed himself to shut his eyes in an effort to force himself to sleep. But with the image of Jacob’s lips so close to his own plaguing his mind, Sebastian could not sleep. 

He could hear the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock. Steady and repetitive. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Sebastian heaved another sigh. He rolled onto his side again, propping his head onto his arm. He stared at his door. 

This was pointless. There was no sense in trying to force himself to sleep. His mind was still racing. 

Maybe Juliette would be still awake, he pondered. It was plausible, but he did not want to wake her at this hour. Sighing again, he threw back the blankets that had trapped his legs and swung them over the side of his bed. 

He grabbed his robe and tied it around his waist. Well, there was no sense in attempting to go back to sleep—not yet at least. Perhaps he could make himself a quick cup of tea and go straight back to bed. And maybe, just maybe, he could will himself to sleep. 

Or if he asked Juliette very, very nicely she could hit him upside the head with a skillet and that would do the trick. Knock him out for a few hours without so much of a thought of Jacob Frye and his… well, everything. 

Just as his foot hit the bottom step, he heard rustling in the kitchen. Was Juliette up too? He carefully turned the corner and found himself staring at Jacob hunched over a candle and pouring himself a cup of tea. 

“Jacob?” he asked. 

Jacob startled, his hands fumbling and nearly knocking the cup of what Sebastian could only assume was tea onto the floor. 

"Jesus, warn a man,” Jacob grumbled.

Sebastian held a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh. “Apologies, I heard noises and I thought—you know, never mind. What are you doing at this hour?”

Jacob heaved a sigh and gestured to the tea kettle and cup. “Thought I’d try a hand at making a cup of tea—” he gave the cup an experimental sip. His face screwed up in disgust. He ungracefully spat the tea back into the cup and wiped his mouth. “Bloody fuck that was shit.” 

“I’ll make us a new kettle,” Sebastian decided with a sigh. 

He walked to one of the cabinets where he had the spare kettle and began the process of boiling the water. All the while, he struggled to rid his mind of the image of Verity cowering in the corner and clearly terrified of both him and Jacob. Her dress torn and frayed at the hem, her hands dirtied with soot, and grime embedded into her nails. The pleading words that spilled from her mouth made his heart sink to his stomach. How she begged for them not to hurt her. How she begged for her life. 

“You alright, Sebastian?” Jacob’s voice cut through his reverie. 

Sebastian nearly jumped and cursed to himself as the kettle began to whistle. He quickly went to work pouring out the waters into the waiting cups (and teabags) Jacob had set out. He turned off the stove and set the kettle aside. 

“I can't get Verity out of my head," he half-lied. It was not completely false. His mind often drifted to Verity. Especially when Jacob scooped her into his arms and walked away with her. It was… sweet. Jacob was certainly revealing new traits to his complicated personality everyday; and Sebastian still had yet to learn them all. “She looked terrified of us. Of me. I can't help but wonder what Houser had been doing to her…” 

"You can’t force yourself to think like that. You’ll go mad if you do."

Sebastian laughed. He already felt mad doing this. Risking not only Juliette’s reputation, but his own. Of course, he hardly gave a damn about his own reputation—it was not like he would be ostracized to whatever lengths Juliette would be. He knew that this mission, this endeavor was risky. Dangerous. But he could not with good conscience stand by while more girls, more families, are destroyed by Houser and Danbury.

“I'm starting to wonder if I am mad,” he said under his breath. “Am I mad for going through with all this? I am risking my reputation, Juliette, my family… everything. And just for the sake of one monster.”

“If it’s any consolation, I met a man once who performed surgeries on people who were still alive. Now that was a madman.”

Sebastian stared at Jacob incredulously. “Is that somehow supposed to make me feel better?” 

Jacob answered with a shrug and said, “Don’t know. But it did get you to stop thinking about it, right?”

Sebastian opened his mouth but then closed it. Despite Jacob’s statement, he had to admit that the other man was right. His thoughts of Verity had been quickly dashed at the mention of that awful surgeon—and now? Well, now, he could feel those thoughts drifting back.

“I know you are trying to distract me, Jacob Frye, but—”

“Tell me this, Worth. Why airships?”

Sebastian opened his mouth to spit out his answer but the other man was quick to cut him off—“And don’t say because of your Father and keeping the legacy alive, or any of that bullshit nonsense. We both know that’s a shitty excuse. I want to know why you chose that life.” 

Cheeks flushing and mouth agape, Sebastian averted his eyes, shaking his head. He had not expected such a forward response from Jacob. He took in a deep breath and exhaled. He pondered over Jacob’s question—why airships indeed? He couldn’t help but wonder. 

Why did he love the air?

Why was he always flying?

Why was he so desperate to reach the Sun?

There was a pause. 

“I suppose it is because I love the feeling of flying,” he answered. He traced the edge of his thumb over the rim of the tea cup, feeling a smile stretching across his lips as his body instantly relaxed. “That feeling of freedom. No responsibilities. No expectations.”

He lifted his head to meet Jacob’s gaze. And before he could even stop himself, the words spilled past his lips. 

“To not feel as if I’m trapped inside some gilded cage where I’m supposed to be someone my father can be proud of. When I’m up there, I can be me. The person I’ve always dreamt of becoming. Someone who is meant to do more.” 

Jacob nodded, as if accepting his answer. There was a mischievous smile that had graced his lips, one that Sebastian was becoming very familiar with. He shrugged his shoulders, murmuring, “A bit cliché I’ll admit—”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and scoffed, “You absolute sod!” He reached across the table and shoved Jacob hard in the shoulder. “I pour my heart out to you and all you can come up with is, ‘it’s too cliché?’”

“It’s nice to know you have a sense of humor,” Jacob said. 

“I have a sense of humor,” Sebastian argued. He rolled his eyes. Unbelievable. “You, Jacob Frye, are—” 

“Charming? Brilliant? Handsome?”

“Annoyingly persistent.” 

“I will take the compliment.” 

Sebastian looked down at his tea cup, shaking his head. An unexpected smile found its way to his lips. “Thank you, Jacob. For this… talk.”

“And thank you for the tea.” 

Jacob stood up, clapping a hand onto Sebastian’s shoulder.

“Try to get some sleep, yeah?” 

Sebastian nodded. “I will do my best.” 

Jacob squeezed his shoulder before turning away and passing through the kitchen’s threshold. Sebastian listened for Jacob’s footsteps to disappear and then the sound of a door shutting, and then he was alone. He finished his tea in silence, and then cleaned up the kitchen before going back up the stairs to sleep. 

And with the final thought of Jacob’s crooked smile and captivating colored eyes, Sebastian fell asleep. 

April 26th, 1868

Morning came and Sebastian woke with a slight crick in his neck. He washed and dressed himself, before going down the stairs to the parlor. He sat near the coffee table, his mind often wandering while Jacob and Juliette stood in front of their 'conspiracy' board. Jacob folded his arms over his chest. 

“He has to have another location for these girls,” Jacob said, taping his chin. “Somewhere in the city that is easily accessible and well hidden. But it wouldn’t raise suspicion.” 

“A warehouse, perhaps? Or a factory?” Juliette suggested as she walked to stand next to Jacob. “Paris is not short on those… I could see if Verity would be willing to talk about where Houser was originally holding her.”

Sebastian’s head snapped up at the mention of Verity. He adamantly shook his head. 

“No, she’s safe with her family. That is what matters,” he snapped. “I don’t want to drag her into this and do more damage. She’s already been scarred because of Houser that bloody attic of his.”

“Seb, if we hadn’t intervened, Danbury would’ve taken her to London and her parents would’ve never seen her again,” Juliette protested in an effort to smooth over his own doubts. “You and Jacob did the right thing.” 

“Did we?” he asked. “I'm starting to wonder if we are interfering with matters beyond our reach."

Sebastian felt a hand drop onto his shoulder. At first he half-expected to see Juliette but when he turned his head, he was surprised to find Jacob standing there, his expression soft and a small smile on his lips. Sebastian felt his cheeks warm as Jacob’s fingers curled around his shoulder and gave it an assuring squeeze. 

“You did the right thing, Sebastian,” Jacob said. “Verity'd likely still be in that place if we hadn't done something."

"I want to believe you but—"

"Then trust me."

Sebastian felt his heart tighten in his chest. That was the most terrifying part—he was starting to feel more than just trust with Jacob Frye. 

And would that be such a terrible thing? 

He swallowed hard.

No. 

No.No.No. Absolutely not. Do not even go there. We have a job to do.  This is not the time nor the place to be feeling this way. Just stop it. Stop thinking about him and those unrealistic arms of his. Or that peculiar scar. Or his eyes. Oh, oh he did have lovely eyes... NO. NONO. STOP IT. Focus on the job. Focus. Focus—

Sebastian cleared his throat and jerked his shoulder back. He noticed a shift in Jacob’s expression as he rose to his feet and walked up to the board. He tuned out Juliette and Jacob’s chatter behind him, his sole focus on the board in front of him. 

There had to be a clue somewhere. 

Anywhere!

“I feel like I am about to lose my mind,” he muttered, tugging on the strands of his hair. 

The lines of the map had already begun to blur, bleeding into the parchment. He heaved another sigh and pinched at the bridge of his nose. A gnawing headache began to creep its way at the back of his skull, throbbing and pulsating. He heaved a sigh and blinked a few times in an effort to rid himself of the headache. 

“ Sébastién ?”

Despite the mention of his name, he did not take his eyes off the map. He plucked a drawing pin from their stash and stabbed it into the board—directly onto the flat they’d marked as Houser’s. An image quickly flashed across his vision; one of Verity. Still cowering in the corner and sobbing in French. 

Fucking Christ. 

“Yes, Juliette?” 

“I am going to run to the market for a few items. Did you need anything?” 

For Houser and Danbury to be in prison? For these girls to be reunited with their families? For this all to be over? For me to figure out what it is I am feeling or starting to feel for Jacob Frye? Can you help with any of those things?

“No, no, I’m alright, you two go on—” Sebastian picked up another pin and tied a red strand of thread around the top of it. “I still have some work left to do—”

There was a sigh, footsteps, and the sound of the door closing—and then everything else just faded into the background. 

Sebastian was not sure how long he worked on the board. Time almost passed by in a blur. He would walk to the board, stare at it, connect a few strands of thread, and then return to the table where the majority of their notes and findings were laid out. He skimmed through every scrap of paper his contacts in Paris had dug up. Searching and scanning for anything that could help them in their endeavor—but as he had come to learn, Houser was a smart man. As was Danbury. And they were careful. 

But even smart men often make mistakes; he just had to find them.

Hours passed. And Sebastian still sat on the edge of the coffee table, reading through another employee list one of his contacts had nicked from Houser’s match factory when a familiar pair of hands snatched up the paper. His head snapped up to find Jacob standing in front of him and folding the paper away, tucking it into his shirt.

“What are you doing? I was reading that!” he protested. 

“And now you’re done reading it,” Jacob said, pushing a familiar teal colored coat into Sebastian’s arms. “You’ve been staring at the map for hours. You need a break, Sebastian.”

“We still haven’t located where Houser is holding the majority of the girls,” Sebastian protested as he shoved his coat away. It fell onto the floor in a crumpled heap—the display would certainly make his eldest sister scoff in shame. "I won't stop until we find out where that place is."

“And you won’t find it tonight unless you take a break. Juliette is already out and gone to talk to Verity—”

Sebastian’s mouth fell open like a fish. He struggled to find his words, his mind already a jumbled mess from lack of sleep and a concerning amount of coffee and tea (and little else). His cheeks turned pink as he stammered out, “But I thought she—”

“Had gone to the market? Already done and back. She went to see Verity and I was told that I needed to get you out of the flat for the next few hours or you’ll drop dead,” Jacob finished for him. He grabbed the coat again and draped it over one arm. He arched a brow, his voice dropping lower. “Now, are you coming with me or am I going to have to drag you out of here?”

“And if I refuse?” 

Jacob’s lips curled into a wicked, salacious grin. He appeared to eye him up and down—sizing him up. 

“You sure want to know the answer? I can be very persuasive if pressed.” 

Sebastian’s cheeks grew warm at the serious tone in Jacob’s voice. Oh, he was serious. Well, that certainly changes things. He cleared his throat and sheepishly shrugged on his coat. 

“Fine. We’ll do it your way, but I am going to complain the entire time.”

Jacob’s smile was wicked. He adjusted the hat on his head and made for the front door, muttering, “I figured you might.”

The pair exited the flat and walked a bit of a ways before coming to a stop at a carriage. Sebastian opened his mouth to speak to the driver but Jacob stopped him.

“Pouvez-vous nous emmener ici s'il vous plaît?” Jacob asked in what Sebastian found to be not so terrible French. His pronunciation was horrid but the driver appeared to understand him—well, to an extent. 

His brows shot to his forehead. What the bloody hell is happening? Was he in a dream? How the hell did Jacob Frye, of all the men in the world, know French?

The driver took the piece of paper from Jacob’s hand and nodded, gruffly gesturing to the carriage. Jacob turned back to him and opened the carriage door. 

But Sebastian could not move.

“You just spoke French?” he said. “Have you been learning French? Who the hell has been teaching you French?” 

“Juliette was kind enough to teach me a few things. So, I know a handful of phrases and some not so kind words that are not for the faint of heart,” was Jacob’s answer. 

Sebastian stared blankly at Jacob, attempting to process his words. Juliette rarely spoke French to anyone; she barely spoke her native tongue to him. So for her to teach Jacob some of her native tongue was practically unheard of. He blinked at Jacob as the carriage jumped and they were off. 

“That was… sweet of her.” 

“You sound surprised.” 

“I am.”

Sebastian attempted to peek through the thin curtains of the carriage, but Jacob was always right there to stop him. Eventually, the carriage lurched to a halt and Jacob, the gentleman, gestured for Sebastian to exit first. Once he had stepped out, Sebastian was met with a familiar sight: the beautifully constructed cathedral that was Notre Dame. 

He had been here so many times before as a child, but not in recent years as a young man. 

It’s much bigger than what I remember , he thought fondly. 

“Notre Dame? Why did you bring me here?” Sebastian asked as he watched Jacob stride towards the cathedral’s massive doors. 

“You always talk about flying and feeling like you’re on top of the world,” Jacob said. “Now, it’s my turn to show you where I feel that same feeling.” 

Sebastian heaved a sigh. The streets were empty sans for a few stray cats that were yowling and prowling for a late-night snack. He stepped closer to Jacob.

“But it’s after hours, it’ll be—”

To Sebastian’s horror and surprise, Jacob waltzed right to the cathedral and began banging on the doors. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he hissed, rushing up to stop Jacob from causing even more of a disturbance. He snatched Jacob’s wrist and pulled him back, their chests bumping into each other. “Someone could hear you!”

Jacob did not pull away, his lips only spread wider into a mischievous grin. He took a step forward, their faces now inches apart. Sebastian visibly swallowed, his eyes darting around to see if they were indeed alone. He relinquished his grip on Jacob's wrist and stepped back. 

"You are going to get us caught!" he argued.

“Just trust me on this one, alright?”

“Jacob—”

Without so much as a warning, Jacob grabbed his face with both hands, his grip firm but somehow gentle, and said, “Trust. Me.”

Sebastian took a deep breath, his eyes immediately locking with Jacob's. They stood there, neither of them saying a single word. A stand-off of sorts. Up this close Sebastian could see how different Jacob’s eyes were from his own. His eyes were a dark green on most days, occasionally changing to a lighter shade, but Jacob’s—

Jacob Frye's eyes were the most wild shade of blue-green he'd ever seen. Often shifting from one shade to the next depending on the day. And tonight they were an interesting shade of hazel, swirling blues and greens that made Sebastian feel like he was swimming in the ocean. 

Sebastian had found himself searching for those eyes over the past few days. Hoping and wishing that Jacob’s gaze would shift and they would meet. Just briefly. Dark green and hazel eyes meeting and neither one of them saying a single word. 

Trust me. Jacob had said. 

Trust me.

Trust me. 

Jacob’s thumb brushed his cheek just ever so slightly. And right there, Sebastian found himself giving in.  

“Alright,” he sighed begrudgingly, nodding into Jacob’s hands. “I trust you.”

Jacob flashed him another one of those charismatic smiles, let go of his face, turned, pounded his fist on the doors again, and then stepped back. Sebastian nervously glanced at their surroundings. He was half-tempted to leave and abandon Jacob to his fate but then the cathedral’s doors creaked open, revealing a blurry-eyed man with graying hair. He was dressed as if he had been in bed, complete with a dressing gown.

“ Messieurs ,” the priest grumbled, brows furrowing. He pulled his dressing gown tighter around his body. His accent was thick, very similar to Juliette’s. “Is there something I could help you with?”

“Good evening, Father,” Jacob said, his tone apologetic. “I’m so sorry for disturbing you at such an hour. But my companion and I wish to ask you a favor.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed further and Sebastian was convinced that they were doomed.

Oh, this was a horrible idea. 

Sebastian turned his head away—this was going to end terribly. The priest would likely call the authorities and have them arrested for trespassing or something akin to it. He braced himself to hear Jacob tell him to run but no such order was given. In fact, the priest continued to ask questions. 

“Are you aware it is the middle of the night, my child?” the priest asked slowly. 

Jacob’s smile spread wide. “I am.”

“And what brings you to my doors?” 

Jacob laid a hand to his chest—Sebastian’s eyes flicked down to see Jacob’s ring finger curled to his chest. He arched his brow. What was he doing? He’d never seen such a greeting before. What the hell was Jacob playing at? 

“We seek safety and peace, Father.” 

A sense of familiarity crossed the priest’s face. While his lips had been pursed and eyes narrowed, the priest’s expression changed to something softer and kinder. He pushed the door aside and took a step back. 

“Then Notre Dame welcomes you, brother,” the priest said. 

Jacob flashed another smile and motioned for Sebastian to follow. Sebastian blinked owlishly at Jacob, not entirely sure what had just happened. But he did as Jacob silently instructed and stepped into the cathedral. His eyes flicked over to the priest who was already in the process of closing the doors behind them. The priest did not say another word, only bowing his head and then walking towards a door on the right side of the large room.

“How did you do that?” Sebastian whispered once they had stepped into the massive cathedral. He watched as the priest disappeared through a door and Jacob continued on. 

“You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

“Does it have to do with our previous conversation about some kind of Brotherhood?”

“If I told you everything about me, then I’d have to kill you,” Jacob said without missing a beat.  

Sebastian stopped mid-stride. “I still cannot tell if you are lying to me—”

“Are you coming with me or not, Worth?”

Rolling his eyes, Sebastian followed suit. He had been inside the grand cathedral on a handful of occasions, but those visits were during the day and with crowds of people also coming inside to see the stained glass and architecture. At night, Notre Dame felt as if it was haunted. That there were ghosts and spirits looming in the shadowy corners and hiding in plain sight. But Sebastian was not a very superstitious man—he was much more practical than that. 

They climbed the stairs that led to the famous bells of Notre Dame and Sebastian found himself in awe of the crafted pieces of bronze. The bells themselves were massive and beautiful at the same time. Sebastian’s hand itched to run his fingers along the edges, his mind wandering as he circled them. He had heard these same bells so many times and to see them up this close was something that could only happen in a dream. 

Jacob whistled, startling him. Sebastian sharply turned his head to find Jacob standing in front of what he could only assume was another door. He approached, his boots creaking under the floor. 

“If this is a plot to murder me, it’s not a very good one,” Sebastian whispered as Jacob opened the door that led to the roof. 

“Not really my style,” Jacob said. “Up close and personal is my preferred method.” 

Sebastian rolled his eyes. He was not sure if Jacob was being truthful or trying to make him laugh. But whichever one it was, it managed to coax a chuckle out of him. He walked up the tiny set of stairs that led to the roof. He stared out at the horizon, watching the clouds roll by, revealing a scattering of stars. He stood in silence, his breath taken away by the view. He sat down and took in the sight before him. He felt Jacob sit down beside him, the radiating warmth of his body just mere inches away. They sat in silence, both breathing in the night air as the minutes ticked by. 

A shooting star flew through the night sky, a brilliant white light against a sea of blues, purples, and blacks. Sebastian’s eyes drifted over to Jacob’s. 

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked.

“To finally get you to take a break,” Jacob answered simply. 

“Did Juliette put you up to this?” 

“No, this was all my idea.” 

Sebastian tried to stop the smile from spreading across his lips, but failed. He smiled, his cheeks heating up. 

“You are full of surprises, Jacob Frye,” he said aloud. 

“Not sure my sister would agree with you,” Jacob replied.

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. 

When they had brought Verity back to the flat, he had tried to apologize to Jacob for doubting him, for disagreeing with his decision… He had come to learn that Jacob was a man who had secrets. But even with secrets, he was honest. Perhaps now was the perfect opportunity to finish that apology. 

“I wanted to apologize to you, Jacob,” he said. 

Jacob snorted, as if taken back by his statement. “What for?” he asked. 

“I doubted you, at Houser’s flat. With Verity. And I shouldn’t have. I should have trusted you and your judgment. And for that, I am sorry.”

There was a brief pause.

Jacob’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Close your eyes.”

Sebastian blinked at him, stunned. “What? Why?” he dared to ask. He sat back, still curious and concerned. “Wait, is this the part where you push me off the roof?"

Jacob snorted again. He shook his head, laughing, "And not get paid? Even I know better than that. Now, come on, close them.” 

“Very well,” he said with a reluctant sigh. He made a flippant gesture with a wave of his hand. “As you command, Mr. Frye.”

Sebastian shook his head, complying with Jacob’s request and closed his eyes. He heard some shuffling and Jacob’s muffled cursing. He was half-tempted to sneak a quick peak but continued to wait with both eyes shut. 

“Alright, open your eyes.”

And when Sebastian did, his breath was stolen from him, snatched right from his chest. The clouds had parted, revealing Paris before them and the tiny dots of street lamps. Above them, the moon was full and shining bright, illuminating the city further. He couldn’t help but feel a laugh bubble up his chest and escape his lips. He had never seen Paris from a view like this. From the air, the lights were flickering specks, but here? It was a sight one could only dream of. 

“You were right,” Sebastian breathed, the shock still settling over him. “It is quite beautiful up here. I can see why you would like it so high up.” 

“The view is something, but the company is even better," Jacob murmured, sitting down beside him.

Sebastian felt his cheeks heat up at Jacob's words. He cleared his throat, averting his eyes. His fingers twitched. And then he felt Jacob's calloused fingers brush against his. He stiffened. His mind drifted to thoughts of him and Ed, sitting on the edge of his bed in his London flat. Jacob deserved to know the truth… even if he already knew. He needed to hear it from his mouth and not from a shoddy newspaper that printed lies for the sake of a headline. 

“Jacob, there is something you need to know about me,” he said. 

Jacob nodded. “You don't have a third eye anywhere, do you?” 

“How is it that even when I am trying to be serious with you, you still manage to annoy me somehow?”

Jacob shrugged, grinning cheekily. "Sorry. Force of habit." 

Sebastian sucked in a deep breath, the anxiety rising and clawing at his chest. Despite the attempt of the joke, he could feel his hand begin to shake but Jacob’s fingers curled around his and gave them a gentle squeeze, assuring him that he was safe. He had not talked about this in over a year. He had done everything humanly possible to erase the horrible memories from his mind. Sure, there were good memories, wonderful and blissful memories that Sebastian had held so closer to his heart. The ones of him and Ed tangled in his bed, enjoying the afterglow of their intimacy. Ed whispering in his ear and kissing his nose, telling him how much he loved him, and how much he wanted for them to run away together—

And then they were caught. 

And Sebastian was still here, and Ed… 

Ed was dead. 

“There was a man in my life who meant the world to me,” he began. “His name was Edward Mercer. He was the first thing I thought about every morning, and the last thing I thought about before I fell asleep. And for a time, we were happy…”His breath began to quicken as he went on. Jacob’s fingers tightened their grip around his. He could feel the familiar prick of tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He quickly wiped them away. “I was trying to play the part of son and lover, but it—it all fell apart. And now, he’s dead. And I’m—I’m still here.” 

A beat of silence passed between them. 

“You miss him, don’t you?” 

Sebastian shakily nodded, wiping at his teary eyes again. His breath caught in his throat. “I do. I mean, Ed was a good man, and I loved him very much. But nothing will bring him back, and I’ve had to accept that.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

The warmth of Jacob’s fingers left his and Sebastian almost caught himself surging forward to get that familiar, comforting feeling back again. He lifted his head to meet Jacob’s gaze, unaware of how close they had become. Now they were only inches away. 

“Thank you, but it’s… it’s in the past. When he—” Sebastian took another sharp breath, averting his eyes briefly. For a moment, Sebastian swore he caught Jacob lick at his lips and eyes flick down. Perhaps it was just his mind playing a horrible trick. There was no way Jacob could feel this way about him. “When Ed died, I thought I lost a part of my heart. As if it had been stolen from my chest. And for the longest time, I thought I would perish without him.”

“And now?” Jacob asked.

Sebastian sighed, biting at his bottom lip. His lips pulled into a smile, big and wide. He could hardly contain the wave of emotions that continued to pour out of him. “Now, I am starting to find my heart was never missing a piece. It just needed someone to help heal that part of me,” he answered. “And to be honest, I’ve grown quite fond of your company, Jacob Frye. You are not like most men I’ve met. At first, I thought you were a scoundrel. You were rude, brash—”

“Trying not to take offense to that—”

Sebastian laughed again—this bloody man. His heart warmed at Jacob’s words. His eyes were wet with fresh tears. He sniffed, shakily chuckling, “But you are also kind, understanding, brave, and somehow incredibly irritating, and —”

“If I kiss you, will that shut you up?” 

Wait, what? Sebastian blinked owlishly at Jacob. Had he heard him right? Did Jacob just ask to kiss him? On the roof of Notre Dame? He let out a nervous laugh, still staring at Jacob. His heart swooped to his stomach. A flickering flame of desire and hope prickled under his skin and flooded his veins. He felt his cheeks heat up as he felt Jacob’s fingers curl around the back of his neck. It was gentle and comforting. And Sebastian could not stop staring at Jacob’s lips. He wondered how they would feel against him—

Be like Icarus. Be like Icarus.

Fly. Fly. Fly.

FLY.

The faintest of smiles stretched across his lips.

“Yes, please shut me up.” Sebastian nodded and watched as Jacob leaned forward, closed his eyes, and muttered, “Happy to.” And then their lips met.

And in that moment, he swore he was flying. He was Icarus, and Jacob was the Sun. He was going to fly to the Sun and consequences be damned. If he was going to fall, then this was the perfect reason. 

Jacob was the first to apply more pressure to their kiss, his hand tightening his grip around the back of his neck. Sebastian tilted his head to the side, adjusting their position to feel more of what was Jacob Frye. His own hand stretched up to rest on Jacob’s chest, just above his heart. And they sat there, lips brushing, hands wandering, the stars sparkling above them, and the moon, full and bright, shining brighter than anything in Paris. 

Sebastian broke their kiss first, his chest hurting and lungs protesting. 

As far as kisses went, Ed’s kisses had always been rough. Teeth clashing, hands pulling desperately at clothes, fighting for dominance and control—but this kiss with Jacob? It was the complete opposite. It was soft and gentle. It was a first kiss, and for Sebastian’s sake, hopefully not the last. He wanted to kiss Jacob again. And he wanted to keep kissing this man until he could no longer breathe.  

“Does this mean we can drop the ‘acquaintances with a similar end goal?’ now?” Jacob asked, his hand sliding up to cup Sebastian’s cheek. His thumb stroked his cheekbone and Sebastian leaned into the touch with a soft whine. 

God had he been so deprived of touch that he was that desperate? Jacob’s thumb swiped over his top lip and Sebastian almost caught himself whimpering at the loss of Jacob’s lips on his own. He felt a shudder run up his spine—God Jacob Frye was going to be his downfall. That he was certain of. He truly was like the Sun. Warm and inviting, and dangerous and bright—

Sebastian’s lips twisted into a smirk. “I think it does, Jacob Frye,” he replied. 

Jacob’s smile mirrored his own. “Good. Can we get back to the whole kissing part?” 

Nodding, Sebastian leaned forward again and pressed his lips against Jacob’s once more. His hand came up to rest at the back of Jacob’s neck, his thumb ghosting just under his ear. He felt as if he was chasing after Jacob’s lips, the two of them acting like love-struck teenagers who had snuck off in secret to exchange kisses and touches. Sebastian gasped as Jacob’s lips nipped at his, his larger hand grabbing him around the small of his back and twisting their positions. He found himself being pressed gently to the ground. Jacob loomed over him, his hair dropping in front of his face. Sebastian cocked his head to the side, his eyes searching for Jacob’s. 

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Jacob leaned down, brushing their noses together. “Like what?"

Sebastian leaned further back, apprehensive. "Like you want me?"

There was a pause. Jacob’s lips pulled into a smile. A genuine smile. One that Sebastian felt was meant only for him, and him alone. His heart skipped a beat. 

And then Jacob kissed him again, briefly pulling back to whisper, “Because I do want you, Sebastian Worth.”

Sebastian thought his brain had stopped working entirely. Stuttering and sputtering like the dying engine of an airship.  

“You—you want me?”

“Yeah. I want you. I want every part of you. The good, the bad… if you’ll have me.” 

Without a moment's hesitation, Sebastian eagerly nodded and tilted his head up to kiss Jacob again. And again. And again until his lungs began to scream for air once more. 

After exchanging kisses, some heavy petting, and Sebastian doing everything in his willpower not to lose it atop the roof of Notre Dame, he insisted they return back to the flat. Jacob’s face immediately turned into a pout—and with some more persuasion (and more kisses and Sebastian’s hand sneaking under Jacob’s coat and shirt, fingers grazing over the expanse of his back and stomach), they departed from Notre Dame and began their walk back to the flat. And for a while, they walked in silence. Well, for the first five minutes at least. Their fingers occasionally brushed each other as they walked the mostly empty streets of Paris. Jacob even boldly took hold of his wrist and tugged him into an alley to press their lips together in a kiss that Sebastian never wanted to end. He grabbed Jacob’s face and held him there, not even paying mind to the citizens who walked by—and to his own relief, they did not notice them either. 

Sebastian’s hand once again snuck its way under Jacob’s shirt, his palm resting on the warm skin. A moan escaped past his lips as a knee managed to wedge its way between his legs. Christ, he could not wait to get those clothes off of Jacob so he could really see what was hiding under all those layers.

What usually took a twenty minute walk turned into almost an hour of them trying to get back to the flat. They stopped at the occasional empty alley to kiss and tug and pull at clothing—and Sebastian felt as if his skin was on fire. This man—this Jacob Frye—was going to be the death of him, he decided as he found himself pinned against another alley and Jacob’s lips were on his neck. He bit back a moan from escaping as both Jacob’s lips and hands wandered. 

Eventually, they arrived back at the flat. Their cheeks flushed and skin on fire. Sebastian quickly shed his coat and began to make his way towards the stairs that led to his room. He could feel Jacob’s eyes staring a hole into his back as they both took the stairs to the second floor. He was grateful that Juliette was fast asleep and blissfully unaware of what had happened—but that would likely mean she would find out eventually. 

Sebastian stopped at his door, his hand hovering over the knob. He slowly turned to face Jacob who looked even more handsome than before. Maybe it was just the sheer thrill of how it felt to have Jacob’s lips on his, but Sebastian was itching for more. His eyes flicked down to Jacob’s lips—the image becoming more and more tempting by the second. 

“Do you—” he began. He cleared his throat and leaned against his door, the knob pressing hard into his back. “Do you want to come inside?” 

Jacob’s responding chuckle made Sebastian’s toes curl inside his boots. Jacob stepped forward, his hand coming up to rest at Sebastian’s hip. His fingers curled around his hip and gave it a firm squeeze—Sebastian nearly seized up at the contact. His breath hitched again as Jacob’s lips brushed against his, gentle and teasing. 

“Are you sure?” Jacob whispered against his lips. “Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself if you let me in.” 

Sebastian felt a flood of desire hit him low in his belly. God, how long had it been since he had done something like this, he wondered. He nodded again. “I’m certain. I want you. I want you, Jacob Frye. And I would really love to have you in my bed tonight.” 

"Alright, Sebastian," Jacob said. “I'm yours.”

Lips curling into a grin, Sebastian turned the knob and then grabbed the front of Jacob's shirt. He kissed Jacob with all that he had and tugged them both inside.

Chapter Text

twelve: Jacob

Jacob was not unfamiliar to the feeling of a warm body pressed against his side, especially not after a night out. Sure, he’d had multiple partners in the past, mostly women, but this felt different. It felt… comfortable. Like this was how his life was supposed to feel like. Not as an Assassin, but just a man waking up to find his love in his arms. 

With a yawn, he slowly opened his eyes to find Sebastian’s hair tickling his nose. He wrinkled it and brushed some of the flyaway hairs, yet felt a smile spread across his lips as he shifted his head to look up at the ceiling. 

The reality of his situation slowly began to dawn on him, as did the memories of last night. He shut his eyes, sighing deeply. His gaze drifted to the door. This was not how he expected this to happen. He did not expect to wind up in Sebastian’s bed after kissing him on the rooftop of Notre Dame. And on the streets of Paris. And at the flat. And yet, here he was. 

Oh, Evie was going to murder him. Murder him and leave nothing behind. And she could do it too. She was easily the better Assassin out of the both of them. 

His eyes shifted down to the sleeping man beside him who was equally naked. Sebastian looked peaceful. Any sign of distress from the last few days was gone—no worry lines to speak of. It was as if all traces had been erased in a single night. He smiled, tilting his head to the side. He buried his nose into Sebastian’s hair.

God he could stay like this for a while if he so pleased. 

“Sebastian,” Jacob murmured into the still sleeping man’s hair. He carded his fingers through the mused curls, his lips grazing the other man’s hairline. “Hey, love, time to wake up.”

Sebastian answered him with a muffled moan of his own. He shifted closer, pressing the length of his body flush against his own. Jacob grunted at the contact, flinching at first, before glancing back down to find Sebastian’s eyes, still heavy from sleep, staring up at him. 

“Good morning,” the other man mumbled.

“Sleep well?” he asked. 

Sebastian nodded and tucked his head under his chin.

“Very,” was the murmured reply. “I really don’t want to leave this bed if I’m being honest.”

“Neither do I,” Jacob confessed. 

Chuckling, he nosed at Sebastian’s curls, inhaling deeply. He could still smell the oil Sebastian had put in his hair the day before—rosemary and lemongrass. It was beginning to fade but Jacob was quite tempted to bury his nose in Sebastian’s curls for hours if he could. The smell was certainly a refreshing take than what he was used to—the stench of smog, oil, and blood. How it soaked his clothes and skin. He felt there were times where no matter how many times he scrubbed at the blood stains they would not leave his skin. But this? This was something he could get used to. 

“But we can’t stay here forever,” he said. 

“It’s my flat,” Sebastian answered, curling his body closer. He let out another yawn, and lifted a hand to rest over Jacob’s heart. “I can do as I please.” 

“Juliette will be waking up soon. And she'll start asking questions.”

“Then let her,” was the sharp retort. Jacob could almost hear the pout forming on Sebastian’s lips. “My romantic life is my business and mine alone.”

“That so? I’m starting to like this side of you, Sebastian Worth,” Jacob mused. His head dipped to nudge Sebastian’s cheek. He pressed his lips to Sebastian’s cheek, kissing him with each word. “Rebellious. Defiant. Stubborn. All attractive qualities.” 

Sebastian laughed, the sound of it immediately warming Jacob’s heart and made the blood in his veins sing. He drew back and attempted to remove himself from the bed but Sebastian’s arms and legs wrapped around his body in a vice and tugged him back. He landed hard on the mattress and looked up to find Sebastian now astride his lap, straddling his hips, curls disheveled and cheeks flushed. His mouth went dry at the sight before him. God he wished he was a painter like Da Vinci. He wanted to capture this image forever. 

“Seb—” he warned, voice lowering to almost a growl. “Best be careful before you start something…”

“What if I don’t want to be careful? Besides, I'm sure you would like to see me in other ways too, Jacob Frye," Sebastian grinned. He cocked his head to the side, subtly shifting his hips. “Maybe on your lap? Or would you prefer to have me under you? You did seem very keen on that last night.”

Jacob suppressed a groan from slipping past his lips as Sebastian leaned down and pressed his lips to the column of his throat. He swallowed hard. He felt Sebastian’s lips travel the length of his neck—and then there was the sharp nip of teeth just under his ear. Jacob hissed under his breath—alright, that was something new.

“Keep this up and I might never let you leave this bed,” he grunted. 

"I would love to see you try,” Sebastian chuckled in his ear.

A growl escaped past his lips. His lips turned wicked. He did like a good challenge. Especially if it involved a gorgeous man like Sebastian Worth. One hand moved to bury itself into those soft curls. His fingers tightened and Jacob yanked hard to pull Sebastian's head back. Sebastian responded with a gasp.

“Like that?” he asked. He tugged harder on Sebastian's hair.

Sebastian's answering whine was all the confirmation Jacob needed. Still grinning wickedly, he released Sebastian’s hair, snagged the other man’s wrists and with all his strength, he flipped their positions. Now, Sebastian was under him, pinned by his wrists and cheeks flushed an adorable shade of red. 

“Are you challenging me?” he asked, hands squeezing Sebastian’s wrists.

“And if I am?” Sebastian choked out.

“As much as I want to keep this going—”

“And who says we need to stop?” 

Jacob stared down at Sebastian’s pinned body. His fingers itched to tighten their grip. God above he wanted to do some very bad things to this man. Things that would make the Queen turn scarlet. Sebastian’s lips curved up into a smile. He fought the groan that so desperately wanted to escape past his lips. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Sebastian’s and relinquished his grip on his wrists. He drew a hand to rest at the nape of Sebastian’s neck, holding him still until he finally broke for air. He pressed their foreheads together, their breaths mingling in a shared space. 

“When this is over and we’re back in London—” he began. He dropped his mouth to Sebastian’s ear and whispered, “I’m going to have you in my bed and you are never going to be allowed to leave it.”

“Is that a promise?” Sebastian asked.

Don't. Evie’s voice rang in his head like a warning bell. Jacob could hear her scolding him, chastising him for his behavior—eerily similar to their father. 

Do not make promises. You will never be able to keep them, Jacob. 

Slowly nodding, Jacob returned his attention to Sebastian’s gaze. His eyes roamed over the freckled skin and single beauty mark. Those forest green eyes staring back at him with pupils  He leaned back down and pressed a kiss to Sebastian’s temple. 

“I promise.” 

Sebastian moved to press their lips together and when they separated, he grinned and said, “I’ll hold you to that, Jacob Frye.” 

Begrudgingly, Jacob managed to convince Sebastian to allow him to leave the bed and sneak back into his room before Juliette woke. After trading a few kisses and lingering touches, he hastily dressed himself in last night's clothes and tip-toed back to his room without making a single noise. Perks of being an Assassin. He kicked off his boots and flopped onto the bed, draping an arm over his eyes. 

He could already hear Evie’s voice in his ear. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Jacob. You cannot allow yourself to get attached to him. It will likely end up two ways. Your body in the Thames or in prison. What will you choose?”

Then I guess I will just have to be careful now, won’t I, dear sister?

Jacob allowed himself to sleep for a while before he climbed out of bed, dressed in fresh clothes, hidden blade strapped to the inside of his forearm, and walked down the stairs to the parlor for another day of work. Juliette was already present with a steaming kettle of tea and biscuits. 

“Mr. Frye, you have a letter,” Juliette said. “Came just this morning with the post.”

Jacob plucked the letter from Juliette’s waiting fingers and then her hand snatched out to snake around his wrist. Her eyes immediately narrowed as he attempted to pull himself away.

“You two were not subtle at all last night,” she whispered. 

Jacob flashed her a cheeky grin. He dropped his voice to meet her tone. “I’m sorry. Did we keep you up?”

Juliette’s face twisted up into a horrified expression. “I’m shocked to say that you left very little to the imagination,” she hissed. She scoffed at him and released her hand from his wrist. “You are horrid, monsieur . Perhaps next time you will learn to keep your voices down.” She rolled her eyes and returned to poring over more notes they’d gathered in recent days. 

Next time, he mused. Oh there was no doubt in his mind that there would be a next time. And he was counting down the minutes till he could get Sebastian back into bed and learn more about what made the other man gasp, moan, and—

Clearing his throat, Jacob walked away to the kitchen, retracting his hidden blade and slicing the letter open. He returned his blade to its sheath and unfolded the letter. He skimmed over the first sentence and his stomach instantly sank to the floor. 

Jacob, 

Worth is working for the Templars. 

His sister’s words stood out in black ink and they repeated over and over in his head as he read them. Worth is working for the Templars. Worth is working for the Templars. Shakily, Jacob folded the top of the letter, his breath catching. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No… He took a deep breath, preparing himself, and opened the letter again, reading the fast scribbles of his sister’s handwriting.

Henry discovered information about another meeting with Worth and Starrick. Worth is now wearing a Templar cross on his coat, confirming his allegiance. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Jacob wanted to rip the letter to shreds. 

On another note, Danbury is coming to Paris. He is due to arrive on the 28th. I do not know if this was intended, but I hope this does not alter your plans. 

- E

The letter was dated less than a week ago. Today was the 27th. One day. He was running out of time. Starrick had finally sunk his claws into Lord Worth and pulled him into a larger scheme. Now, Starrick had access to the greatest airship engineer the world had ever seen. And the possibilities were endless. There was no telling what would happen once Worth’s airships began bearing the mark of Crawford Starrick. 

It would spell disaster for not only London, but the world too.

And now, Danbury was coming to Paris. Danbury would ruin everything the moment he saw Sebastian and Juliette. And what then? What would become of them and everything they have worked so hard for—

No. 

Jacob quickly dashed that thought aside. No, he said to himself. I still have time. He folded the letter back into his pocket and carded his fingers through his hair. I still have time.

A wicked voice mocked, Not enough time. Dear little Sebastian is going to find out you have been lying to him. And what then? Will he forgive you? Or will he hate you till the end of his days? Cast you aside and leave you with your heart broken? Do you really want to risk losing him like that?

No. Sebastian was better than that. He would not—Jacob took a deep breath, closing his eyes, his chest tightening. Sebastian made it clear to him that there was something special between them. They both had their demons but they could look past them. Sebastian was a good man. A better man than most…

"Everything alright, Jacob?" And speak of the devil. 

Jacob hastily stuffed the letter into his shirt pocket with a single nod. Tell him. Tell him about his father. Tell him about Starrick. Tell him about Danbury. Just say something you bloody fucking idiot—SAY SOMETHING. 

“Just fine.”

NO.

“Evie sent a letter about her progress with Starrick,” he lied, clearing his throat. He approached Sebastian, his fingers brushing against the other man’s exposed wrist. “Starrick was not too happy about Attaway’s death and has vowed vengeance.” 

“Ah,” Sebastian hummed. His eyes flicked down to the hand around his wrist. “Do you need me to protect you?” 

Jacob snorted, lips spreading in that charming grin that he knew would make Sebastian weak in the knees. “I hardly need protection.”

“Are you sure?” Sebastian asked playfully. “I have an airship and I could take you anywhere in the world. Spain, Italy…” 

“I’m fine, really,” Jacob insisted, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me. Starrick doesn’t scare me, alright? I can handle people like him.” 

Sebastian’s brows bunched together, his expression clearly unconvinced. His lips pursed. And Jacob could not help himself but reach up and brush his thumb over the crease between Sebastian’s brows. Sebastian’s face scrunched up even more in response. 

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked. 

“Debating on whether or not I should kiss you right now,” Jacob answered. “Seems only right.”

Sebastian's mouth fell agape, very similar to a fish in water. His cheeks flushed a bright red, eyelids rapidly blinking to display his shock.

“Ah, I’m—what?” 

Jacob grinned.

“You heard me. I’m going to kiss you right here in this kitchen.”

Sebastian’s brows shot up to his hairline. He opened his mouth to respond but Jacob was quick to silence him with a kiss. They stood there in the kitchen, lips pressed together. Jacob was first to break away, lips turning up into a smile as he watched Sebastian blink steadily at him, as if still trying to process what had just happened. 

“Still with me?” Jacob asked a now stunned Sebastian. 

“I think so?”

“Good, come on.” He kissed Sebastian again on the lips, chaste this time around. “Better not keep Juliette waiting any longer. I think she knows about what happened last night—”

Sebastian made a startled noise and Jacob promptly shut him up again with another kiss. God he was starting to enjoy this. 

Eventually (after a few more reassuring kisses and touches), the pair entered the parlor again and found Juliette standing at the board, more notes pinned to it with familiar red strings tying it all together. She looked frazzled and stressed, and on the verge of pulling her hair out. Sebastian walked up to her first, laying a hand on her shoulder and pulled her into a side hug. He dropped his lips to her head and kissed her hair. 

“Did you find anything else out from Verity?” he asked, squeezing her shoulder.

“She’s still frightened of Houser,” Juliette said, visibly leaning into the affection. “I could hardly say the man’s name before she started shaking and crying. She would not tell me what he did to her, but I can only imagine that it was horrible.”

Jacob sat down on the settee, the weight of the letter still heavy on his mind. It was like a stone in his chest, dragging him further and further down. He tuned out the majority of Sebastian and Juliette’s conversation, occasionally hearing snippets about Verity and Houser. But his mind was still occupied with Evie’s letter. Danbury had no idea they were coming, he thought to himself. Someone must’ve tipped them off. But who? They’d been so careful. He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers together.

Who would have done such a thing?

His eyes flicked over to Juliette. Sebastian trusted Juliette with his life, and even he knew that she would not risk everything just to bait Danbury into coming to Paris. Evie was not even an option in his mind. She was too engrossed in her own mission with Starrick. No—no, someone else was behind this. 

“Then we need to stop Houser before we find another one like Verity,” Sebastian said. He stepped away from Juliette and focused his attention on the board. “Now, I’ve been going over some of Houser’s inventory reports from his match factory—”

Match factory… Jacob blinked and sat up straighter. The match factory—bloody hell, why didn’t he think of it before? 

“I know where he’s getting these girls from,” he said. He stood up and walked up to the map. He pointed to a building, large in size, and just blocks from Houser’s office. “The match factory.”

"I'm sorry?" Sebastian spoke up. 

“The match factory,” he repeated. He patted himself down and with a triumphant laugh, he retrieved the employee records they'd had taken from Houser’s flat. He handed the paper over to Juliette. “All the girls employed there are between the ages of 12 to 15. And the girls that Danbury keeps bringing back to London—”

“—are within the same age range,” Sebastian breathed. 

Jacob nodded. He watched as Sebastian’s eyes brightened. And the little beauty mark at the corner of his eye crinkled. 

“Verity’s fingers were covered in soot. And her hair smelled like phosphorus. There's a match factory just a few blocks away from Houser’s office, and, where is it, where is it, ah, there you are, you little bastard—” he plucked up a copy of the lease Juliette managed to acquire while on another visit with Houser. “The lease is in Lady Danbury’s name. He’s using his wife’s name to cover up his tracks.”

“ Putain de merde ,” Juliette gasped. She pointed her finger at the map. “Look, there is an alley behind it. Mr. Frye is correct—”

Jacob interrupted her again. “He employs the girls to work at the factory, and when Danbury is looking for another girl to smuggle into London—”

“Houser takes the girls to his office and immediately finds another to replace her… and none are the wiser,” Sebastian whispered. He carded a hand through his hair. “Fucking hell. I think we’ve been underestimating Houser’s intelligence.”

“We need to get into that factory.” 

Juliette shook her head. “We cannot exactly break in without raising some alarm.” She gestured to herself and Jacob. “Houser already recognizes us as Mr. and Mrs. Grey.” 

“Then we sneak someone else inside to not raise suspicion,” Jacob said. “Reggie could—”

“I’ll do it,” Sebastian interrupted. 

Juliette shook her head. “No, Seb, we do not have time to create a cover for you—”

“Then I’ll go by myself, as Sebastian Worth,” was Sebastian’s immediate response. “I am already in Paris acting on my father’s behalf. If he sees me come to his factory, inquiring about a potential partnership and shipping opportunities, Houser might buy it.”

“And if he doesn’t?” 

“Then that is a risk we have to be willing to take.” 

“And the factory?” Juliette asked. “What of it? Do we really expect to let it stand after all those girls have been put through?”

Sebastian’s lips turned up into a smile. “Jacob, I believe this is where we take a page out of your book… how do you feel about blowing up the factory?”

Jacob returned the gesture, lips twisting into a smirk. Oh, this was a new side of Sebastian Worth that he found attractive. He licked his lips. “I'll talk to the priests.” 

“Wait, the priests?” Juliette blinked owlishly at them. “As in…?” 

“Notre Dame,” he confirmed. “I think if we donate some funds, they might be willing to help us.” 

“Then, it is settled. We’ll recruit the priests from Notre Dame to provide us a distraction. Juliette, call on Reggie and the crew and get them ready,” Sebastian said, clapping his hands together. “We are going to need to act fast if we want this to work. Jacob, will you come with me to my room? I need you for something.”

Jacob nodded and with their tasks decided, he followed Sebastian up the stairs to his room. He closed the door behind them and shook his head. He did not like this idea. He was more apt to putting himself in the line of fire. He was the reckless one between himself and his sister; that was a known fact. And he was fine with that. But this? This was out of the question. If Houser suspected anything or if Danbury knew what they were up to, Sebastian’s life could be in danger. And that was something Jacob could not risk.

He stepped away from the door and sat on the edge of Sebastian’s bed, watching the other man button his shirt and pull on that jewel-toned frock coat. As much as he gave that coat grief, it was finally starting to grow on him. Of course, it did look much better on the floor with the rest of Sebastian’s clothes. He dropped his head to look down at the ground. He had to tell Sebastian the truth. It was beginning to eat at him and he feared what it would do to him if he said nothing. 

“Are you done moping?” Sebastian asked. 

Jacob looked up to find Sebastian standing in front of him. 

“I’m not moping. I’m brooding.” 

Sebastian’s arms folded over his chest. “Oh, so that’s what it is. My apologies. I didn’t know I was sleeping with a Master Brooder.”

“That’s Master Brooding Assassin to you,” Jacob responded, rising to his feet. 

“Right, right. Terribly sorry, my mistake,” Sebastian said, flippant in his response. “Now I know to call you by your proper title.”   

“And you’re sure about this?” Jacob asked as he stopped in front of Sebastian. He could not stop himself from grasping the lapels of Sebastian’s jacket. He tugged Sebastian closer to him, brushing their noses together. “You can always back out. I can handle Houser myself.” 

“I know,” Sebastian’s hand came up to rest just over his heart. “But this is my fight too, Jacob. I have to do this. For Constance. For Verity, and for all the other girls, Houser and Danbury have hurt.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt either,” Jacob said. 

You are already going to hurt him, Evie’s voice said harshly in his ear. You are not only lying to him, but to yourself. This will only end badly for the both of you. 

“I'll be fine, Jacob,” Sebastian insisted. He pressed a solid kiss to his temple. “I have you watching my back, remember? And besides if I perish, how will you get your money?”

Please don’t fucking say that, a voice pleaded. Please don’t say that. You have to survive this. I need you to survive this. 

“Promise me that you will get yourself out if this doesn’t work?” he asked. 

“You have my word.” 

Jacob nodded. As much as he wanted to believe Sebastian, he knew he could not. The warring thoughts would not let him. He would be the reason for Sebastian’s fall—and that he knew to be terribly true. 

To the relief of Jacob, the priests were true to their word. After making a sizable donation to the cathedral (all anonymous of course), the priests of Notre Dame were happy to provide for their requests. The head priest, Father Demarcio, was kind enough to provide small barrels of gunpowder that would be rigged to explode and destroy the match factory. It would be made to look like a tragic accident, and no one would suspect anything. Reggie and the crew stepped up to collect from the priests while Juliette stayed close by the factory to aid the crew once they arrived to infiltrate the factory, watching Sebastian go inside to meet with Houser. 

As for himself, he positioned himself accordingly, waiting outside of Houser’s office. He knew that Danbury would be arriving in Paris tomorrow. And with the factory destroyed, he would be dealing with the aftermath and preoccupied. Perhaps he would even turn around and leave Paris before authorities could question him. Thirty minutes passed and Juliette and Reggie enacted their part of the plan, sneaking into the factory and began setting up for their explosive display. To their relief, there were no girls working that day. The factory was empty which meant no one would be at risk for injury. 

And when they were finished setting up the explosives, Juliette soon found him. Of course, he heard her approach, her heeled boots clicking on the stone ground. He kept his eyes on the doors, waiting and watching. 

“Miss Devereux,” he greeted. 

“Everything is ready. We’re just waiting on Sebastian,” she said. She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. 

Jacob glanced over his shoulder to meet her eye. 

“Are you alright?” she asked him. “You seem… distracted.”

“I’m fine,” he said. He shrugged off her hand and jerked his head in the direction of the office. “Get going. I’ll make sure Sebastian gets out.” 

“Jacob—”

“Go. I won’t be far behind.” 

Juliette took a breath and nodded. He could sense the hesitation and concern. She clearly did not believe that he was alright; and in truth, he was not. But he was not going to let that feeling stop him from completing the mission. 

“Be careful.” 

She left and Jacob slipped through the front door of Houser’s office. He found it to be empty which offered a sigh of relief. He tucked himself into a corner just off the side of Houser’s office and counted down. He heard Sebastian’s voice and then a door closed. He heard the footsteps come in his direction and then reached out to wrap his hand around Sebastian’s wrist. He pulled Sebastian towards him, slapping a hand over the other man’s mouth, silencing him. 

“Hey, hey, take it easy, it’s just me,” he whispered. 

“ Christ , Jacob!” Sebastian hissed. He slapped him hard in the chest and ripped his hand free. “I thought you were with Juliette—”

“Change of plans, I’m afraid. You need to go, now. Get back to Juliette and the crew, and do not wait for me. I'll handle Houser,” Jacob said. 

“What? Did something happen?” Sebastian reached for his wrist and grabbed it. “Jacob, you don't—"

“Danbury’s in Paris,” he interrupted. 

Sebastian’s eyes widened, full of fear and terror. He looked panicked. “What? What do you mean Danbury's in Paris?” he asked slowly. “How? How is that possible? He wasn’t supposed to be here—”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, alright? What matters is that we get you out of here before he decides to pop in for a visit and finds you,” he said. He grabbed Sebastian’s hand and gave it an assuring squeeze. “But don't worry about me, I've got this.”

“ Jacob , please. No, no, I’m not leaving you to deal with him. I’m coming with you. I can explain to him that—”

“No,” Jacob shook his head. I need to do this. I need to protect you. “You’ve done enough. Now it’s my turn, alright?” 

He watched as Sebastian’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Sebastian lifted his free hand to cup his cheek, holding him there. “And there’s nothing I can do to convince you otherwise?” 

“Sorry, love, but not today.”

Sebastian sighed, as if accepting what was about to happen. “Just be careful, please? I’d really hate to drag your sorry arse out of a burning building.”

Chuckling, Jacob turned his head and pressed his lips to the center of Sebastian’s palm. 

“I'll see you soon.” 

“Don’t die,” Sebastian said. “I still need to pay you once this is over.” 

Stay safe. 

“I’ll be fine. Go. I’ll meet you back at the flat.” 

I’ll come back for you. 

Sebastian stood there a moment and then slowly backed away.

Heart heavy, Jacob watched Sebastian leave and when he heard the front door close, his eyes drifted to the door where Houser sat behind. He walked up the stairs to the door and did not bother knocking. He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him, startling Houser. 

“Sorry for the intrusion, but you and I are going to have a long conversation, Mr. Houser,” Jacob said, announcing himself. 

“Mr. Grey—” Houser stammered. “This is highly unusual. I was not expecting to see you—”

“My name isn’t Grey. And stop with the bullshit, Houser. Constance Devereux, where is she?”

Houser’s face flushed red. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. His eyes darted around the room, as if searching for something. Still playing the part of just an ordinary man helping couples find maids, Houser rose to his feet. 

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said. 

“Oh, I think you do.”

Seconds ticked by, and Jacob watched as Houser’s expression shifted. Changing from a blubbering, confused mess to something monstrous. It made Jacob’s skin crawl. Houser slowly tilted his head to the side, tutting and heaving a sigh. 

“You really are clever, aren’t you?” he said. “You must be proud of yourself… you and your friends…”

“My friends and I don’t really have time for your games, Houser,” Jacob said, cutting the other man off. “Tell me where Constance is, and I might let you say a few words before you expire.”

Houser walked towards him. 

“And if I refuse?” 

Jacob snorted. He clocked Houser in the jaw, sending the man flying back into the wall. He took a page from Sebastian’s book and pinned his forearm against Houser’s throat, cutting off his air supply. Houser’s eyes bugged out of his skull as his larynx was slowly crushed. 

“I am really going to enjoy watching you burn,” Jacob chuckled. “Tell me where she is. Now.”

Houser choked out, “Where do you think, boy?” His lips spread wide, revealing blood dripping from his mouth. “Danbury always liked to keep his favorite things close by.”

Taken back, Jacob’s forearm pressed harder against Houser’s throat. He clenched his jaw, brows scrunching together. What the hell did Houser mean by that? 

“Stop with the games, Houser. Tell me what I want to know. Now. I’m not going to ask a second time.” 

“There is a flat,” Houser choked out. “Near the Louvre. A white door. Lilacs in the front garden. Your girl, this Constance Devereux, is there."

“Is she alive?” 

“Yes.”

Jacob smirked. He relinquished his forearm from Houser’s throat and watched the man stumble forward, gasping for air. He offered a slight bow, but Houser was staring at him with a burning fury. 

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Houser. And like every business man, you are going to go down with what you’ve built here.” 

“I know that you are working with Worth’s boy,” Houser grinned, blood staining his teeth. 

Jacob froze mid-step. His whole body went rigid. His fingers itched to trigger his hidden blade. One quick slash and Houser would be no more. He wouldn't be able to hurt another girl—or make out on his threat against Sebastian. Jacob’s fingers curled around a blade. Without missing a beat, he slipped it out, the cool weight of it resting in his palm. 

“He made a fairly convincing argument. And I almost believed him too. I can only imagine what Starrick will do to him once he finds out," Houser sneered. "Worth’s boy is a fairly attractive young man. Starrick might want to keep him for himself—"

The blade flew and now was nestled in the wood just an inch from Houser’s head. Jacob’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You keep Sebastian Worth’s name out of your fucking mouth or my blade will find your heart.” 

“Your threats mean nothing to me.”

“A knife in your throat might change your opinion.” 

“I am not afraid to die.”

“Good. I've always hated the ones who are,” Jacob said. He slowly stalked towards Houser. “And you will never be able to harm another girl again, Houser. Best make peace with your God now. You’ll be seeing him soon.” 

"You won't be able to keep him safe,” Houser laughed. “Starrick will come after him and his blood will be on your hands. And I wonder if you would be able to live with yourself…” 

“Starrick won’t be able to touch Sebastian. Not while I still breathe.”

“I truly wish you luck, boy,” Houser said, shaking his head. “Love can make a man a monster, you know.”

Jacob pulled his blade out of the wall and slashed it across Houser’s throat and watched as the portly man sank to his knees, choking on his own blood. Houser’s thick hands wrapped themselves around his throat in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but Jacob knew that his blade had made its mark. Houser would be dead in minutes. He stood there watching the life seep from the other man until his eyes were dull and his body fell limp. He exhaled with a huff, a cruel smile spreading across his lips. 

“I'm already a monster.”

Chapter Text

thirteen: Sebastian

Sebastian always hated playing this part. The dutiful son. The heir to an empire. And one his father could be proud of. He hated trying to be someone he was not, but it was for a good reason. Houser needed to be stopped, no matter the cost.

This was for Juliette. This was for Constance. For Verity, and all the girls who had suffered at the hands of Danbury and Houser.

God, he wanted Jacob to be at his side. He wanted Jacob to be holding his wrist, whispering in his ear, assuring him that everything would be okay. That Houser would buy their rouse, just as he had bought the first one. Houser was greedy and if money was involved, he had no reason not to believe him. 

Sebastian knocked on the door to Houser’s office. 

A voice answered. “Come in!”

Time to make your ancestors proud. He took a breath and opened the door, stepping inside.

“Mr. Houser, I presume?” Sebastian asked, a small smile spreading across his lips. 

Houser stood up, eyes wide. “Mr—Mr. Worth! What a pleasant surprise!” The man hastily shuffled some papers around, closing several folders, before straightening his suit. He walked around the front of the desk and stuck out his hand. 

“Benjamin Houser, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Sebastian forced a charmed smile and shook Houser’s hand. He fought the urge to vomit as the memories of Verity sitting up in that dusty attic, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. He withdrew his hand and sat down in the chair across from Houser’s desk.  

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Houser. My father instructed me personally to see about expanding our business, and Lord Danbury mentioned your name,” he said, laying a hand to his chest, feigning sincerity. “I was in Paris and thought I would stop by. I do apologize for not making an appointment. I was not sure who to contact…”

“Oh no, no, it is no trouble at all. I have heard great things about your father, and it is an honor to have you here,” Houser said. He leaned against the desk, folding his arms over his chest. “So, what is it that I can do for you, Mr. Worth?” 

Sebastian held his breath. I hope this will buy you some time, Juliette. Work fast. 

The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes, and dragged onto almost an hour. Sebastian used that clever tongue of his to spin a story that made Houser’s brows lift and his lips twitch into a smile. He prattled on about how Danbury and his father had spoken in recent weeks about expansion, and that Houser’s name also came up in the conversation. Houser never questioned him once. He looked as if he took in every single word and believed it to be the absolute truth. 

And when it was all said and done, Sebastian thanked Houser for his time, apologized again for the interruption, and walked out of the office with his stomach in a knot. He barely made it around the corner before a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him aside. Fearing the worst, he opened his mouth to shout, but another hand clapped over his mouth, silencing him. 

“Hey, hey, take it easy, it’s just me,” Jacob whispered. 

“Christ , Jacob!” he hissed. Heart beating wildly in his chest, he reacted by slapping Jacob hard in his chest and snatching his hand free. His face twisted up into a confused scowl. “I thought you were with Juliette—”

“Change of plans, I’m afraid. You need to get out of here. Get to Juliette and the crew, and do not wait for me. I'll handle Houser,” Jacob said. 

“What?” Sebastian reached for Jacob’s wrist and grabbed it, stopping him from leaving. “Jacob, you don't—”

“Danbury’s in Paris,” Jacob interrupted. 

Sebastian felt every vein in his body turn to ice. Cold and unforgiving. His heart sank to the floor. His eyes widened. A flare of fear seized his heart in a vice grip. No, no—no. No, that couldn’t be true. Danbury was not to be in Paris. He was supposed to be in London. That was the plan. That had always been the plan.

“What? What do you mean Danbury's in Paris?” he asked slowly. “How? How is this possible? He wasn’t supposed to be here—”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, alright? What matters is that we get you out of here before he decides to pop in for a visit and finds you,” There was a sure grin on Jacob’s lips. The look made Sebastian’s heart sink. As if that was meant to make him feel any better. What the hell was this man planning? “Don't worry about me, I've got this.”

“Jacob, please. No, no, I’m not leaving you to deal with him. I’m coming with you,” he said, frantic. There had to be another way. This—this was all going so wrong. “I can explain to him that—” His shoulders instantly sagged. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. 

“No. You’ve done enough. Now it’s my turn, alright?” 

Sebastian lifted his free hand to cup Jacob’s cheek, holding him steady. No, he was not going to lose Jacob like this. He just needed more time. He just needed to convince Jacob to go with him and leave Houser to his fate.

“And there’s nothing I can do to convince you otherwise?” 

“Sorry, love, but not today,” Jacob said, shaking his head. There was that fiery determination in his tone; one that Sebastian had grown familiar with. Jacob spoke the truth. There was no chance in convincing Jacob to go with him.

He released a sigh, nodding. “Fine. But be careful, please? I’d really hate to drag your sorry arse out of a burning building.”

Chuckling, Jacob turned his head and pressed his lips to the center of his palm. Sebastian felt his stomach flip. He wanted to take Jacob with him. To grab his hand and lead them both out of here. Away from Houser. Away from Danbury. Away from his Father. Away from it all—

“I'll see you soon.” 

Stay safe. Come back to me. Please. Come back to me.

“Don’t die,” Sebastian said, attempting to lighten the mood. He could feel tears stinging at his eyes. “I still need to pay you once this is over.” 

“I’ll be fine. Go. I’ll meet you back at the flat.”  

And that was the last time Sebastian saw Jacob, disappearing around the corner and going back up the stairs that led to Houser’s office. 

 Heart still pounding, Sebastian stumbled out of Houser’s office where Juliette was waiting for him. She walked up to him and grabbed him by the forearms. 

“Well, how did it go?” she asked. 

“Danbury’s in Paris,” he interrupted. 

Juliette’s eyes blinked at him. “What? How? I thought he was—” She opened her mouth to ask more questions, but he stopped her. He looped her arm through his and they began walking away from Houser’s office. Her nails dug into his arm as they walked further and further away, the office and factory disappearing into the background. 

Minutes ticked by—and then, there was an explosion that rocked the streets of Paris. Their plan worked, and soon enough, chaos quickly ensued. 

“Seb, you need to tell me what happened,” Juliette demanded as Parisians stumbled out of their homes, shouting in French. 

“Not here,” he snapped. “At the flat. We need to leave. Now.”

“What about Jacob?” 

“I’m sure he will meet us—”

Before long, the police began to arrive in growing numbers, moving citizens out of the way to clear a direct path to the now burning factory. The fire brigade appeared on the scene not long after, attempting to combat the fires that roared and consumed the unoccupied building. A rumble of thunder echoed above the city. The faint scent of rain filled the air. It would be a welcomed relief to the poor men battling the blaze. But it did little to ease Sebastian’s growing nerves and concern for Jacob’s well-being. 

There was no sign of Jacob appearing from the crowd. Sebastian waited. And waited. And waited. 

A horrifying thought crossed Sebastian’s mind. 

Had Jacob been caught in the explosion? Was he hurt? Or worse… was he dead?

No, no—he could not think like that. Jacob was alive. He had to be alive. He was simply at Houser’s office, likely hiding in the shadows and waiting until the fire was under control, and would come back to the flat and everything would be just fine. It had to be. 

“Seb, we cannot stay here much longer. The police will be wanting to ask questions,” Juliette said, tugging on his arm. “Jacob cannot be far. We need to trust that he made it out.”

Sebastian stared at the blazing inferno over Juliette’s shoulder, lighting her hair an odd shade of red. It was like a flame. He sucked in a deep breath and nodded, not saying another word. 

And with that, they returned to the flat. Juliette immediately went upstairs to bathe and change out of her dress. While she did that, Sebastian stayed downstairs, still anxious and concerned for Jacob’s safety. The minutes quickly turned into hours and when the clock struck midnight, Jacob Frye was still nowhere to be found.

“He should've been back by now,” he said, one arm braced against the glass of the parlor window. 

“He will be here, mon ami,” Juliette said. Her hair was still damp from her bath. She sat on the settee, carefully running her fingers over her dress. She was oddly calm despite the events of the day. And despite his startling confession about Danbury. To his surprise, she had yet to ask him about it. 

He shook his head. No, he was not going to sit here and wait for Jacob to walk through that door.

“I’m going to go find him,” he said, determined. 

Sebastian stepped away from the window and as Juliette rose to her feet to intercept, the front door creaked open. His heart caught in his throat as the door closed and Jacob slowly walked through the threshold of the parlor. He looked as if he had been in one of the worst fights. Hands that were once entangled in his own were stained with blood. There was a visible cut on his lips. He looked as if there had been a fight. A terrible one. It was almost as if Sebastian had been thrown back in time to when Jacob came back to his ship after confronting Attaway. 

And then Sebastian could smell smoke. His heart stuttered. He did not stop himself from rushing up to Jacob and throwing his arms around the other man’s neck. He buried his face into the crook of Jacob’s neck, inhaling the strong smoke and musk that was naturally Jacob’s, his shoulders shaking as he felt an arm come to wrap around his back, holding him. He felt his body sink into the touch. His knees nearly gave out from under him.  

“I thought you were dead,” Sebastian whispered.

A pair of lips pressed against his temple, firm and reassuring. He almost wept with relief. Jacob was alive and breathing and safe. He held Jacob tighter, never wanting to let him go. He had only just got him back. He buried his face harder into Jacob’s neck, and listened to Jacob’s pulse in his ear, steady and thrumming like someone plucking a string.  

“It’ll take a lot more than that to kill me,” Jacob said. 

Sebastian slowly drew back. His hands immediately grasped at Jacob’s face. His thumbs brushed away some of the soot and ash that dotted itself along the bridge of his nose. His eyes scanned over the other man’s face, widening when he noticed blood on Jacob’s collar. “You have blood—”

"It’s not mine.”

Houser’s.

“What about Houser?” Juliette asked, slow in her approach. “Did he—”

“He’s dead,” was Jacob’s even toned response.  

Sebastian stiffened. Dead? Houser? But how—Jacob was the last one to see him. And when he left Houser’s office, the man was still alive. He couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes... 

“Excusez-moi ? Dead?” she repeated. “What do you mean he’s dead?”

“He cut his throat,” Jacob interrupted. He relinquished his hold of Sebastian and stepped away. He sat on the settee, carding a hand through his mused hair. He shook his head, releasing a disappointed sigh. “He wasn't going to turn on Danbury. I tried to stop him and talk to him about what we found out but — ”

Houser wouldn’t kill himself, a voice murmured in Sebastian’s head. He was many things. A horrible and cruel man, and very much a monster in his own right, but there was no indication that he would go that far for Danbury. He was selfish and unkind. He wouldn’t kill himself just to save Danbury’s skin.

Something was wrong. 

A beat passed and a single, dreadful thought crossed Sebastian’s mind. 

Houser didn’t die by his own hand. He perished under Jacob’s. 

Sebastian held his breath. He felt something sickening crawl up his spine. Oh Jacob what have you done now?

“No, no, if Houser is dead… then what do you suggest we do now?” Juliette asked again. “Houser was our only link to Danbury! He would have confessed! He would have told us everything! How could you have let it happen?”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked over to Jacob. The other man’s body was tense under his touch. He drew back, allowing Jacob the space he likely needed. He could understand Juliette’s anger. He too shared in her anger and disappointment at Houser’s demise; but he knew that if Houser was dead, Danbury would be questioned. After all, Houser was his right hand. Danbury would have more knowledge into Houser’s life; well, so was the hope. 

I hope it was worth it, Jacob. 

“Juliette,” Sebastian began to say with an exasperated sigh. 

“No, she's right,” Jacob said. “Houser had everything we needed…”

“And now he's dead,” Juliette spat. Her eyes were filled with anger, and her words, venom, striking true to their intended mark. “Well done, Mr. Frye. This is just brilliant indeed.”

Sebastian noticed the visible flinch that crossed Jacob’s face. He spun on Juliette, his anger bristling. “That is quite enough Juliette! I expect better from you.”

“How do you expect me to be alright with this? First you tell me that Danbury is in Paris—”

Ah, shit fuck—

Jacob’s eyes immediately widened. There was a look of betrayal and hurt that appeared—and Sebastian felt his heart crack. Jacob stood up, slow, and eyes locked onto him. “You told her?” 

“Did you honestly expect me to keep that a secret, Jacob? If Danbury is here, then everything we have worked for has been compromised!” Sebastian said, defensive. “She had a right to know—”

Jacob shook his head, scoffing. “Alright, alright! Just stop! I’ve had enough of today. I’m just… I’m just going to go upstairs.” He raised a hand, as if to speak, but quickly stalked out of the parlor and stomped up the stairs without so much as another word. 

Sensing Jacob’s hurt, Sebastian’s head dropped to his chin. He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. This was not how this was ever supposed to happen. Danbury was never to be in Paris. He was meant to stay in London while they worked on Houser. And with the right amount of push and blackmail, they would get Houser to fold on Danbury. But that had all gone to hell. In a single night, it was all falling apart like a house of cards. 

Houser was dead and Danbury was coming to Paris.

It was all just one big bloody mess.

“I am going to bed,” Juliette stated. 

Sebastian looked in her direction and found unshed tears in her eyes. She looked heartbroken and hurt, just like Jacob. He felt his own heart clench at the sight. He was tempted to reach out to comfort his friend, but he knew that it would be futile. She needed her space, and it was only right to honor that request. Juliette left the room and Sebastian was alone. He stood in the parlor and slowly removed his frock coat and dumped it on the settee. He heard the distant sound of water running and started to go up the stairs to his room. He was half-tempted to go to bed and leave things as they were—but he had always been a stubborn man. 

And he could not let things go so easily. 

So, he did what he thought would cause the least amount of damage to the already fracturing partnership. He debated on checking with Juliette first, but the second he stopped by her door, he could hear her faint sobs, muffled by pillows through the wood frame. He knew it was not a good idea, not when the emotions were this raw. So, that only left him with one other option: Jacob.

Sebastian went to the linen closet next to the washroom and gathered two more towels. He looked up to find Juliette’s door shut, which meant it was Jacob who was in the washroom. He stood outside the washroom door, hesitant. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. 

“Jacob? Are you decent?” 

Sebastian knocked again and did not hear a response. He laid a hand on the door handle and gave it a gentle turn. And to his surprise, it opened, creaking as he pushed the door. He slipped through the door, closing it gently behind him with a click. He turned his attention to Jacob who was sitting in the clawfoot tub, hair damp, and both arms draped over the sides of the tub. He knelt down next to Jacob and gently laid a hand on the other man’s arm. 

“Jacob, are you—”

Jacob startled, splashing water as he jerked his head around and his arms dropped into the tub. “Fucking, shit, Seb. Scared me there,” he muttered. He carded a hand through his hair, turning his head away. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Sebastian said, averting his eyes. Stomach twisting in knots, he lifted the towels as a peace offering. “I brought you some extra towels…”

“Thanks,” Jacob murmured. He shifted in the tub, the water sloshing around him. His eyes appeared distant, far away from his surroundings. 

Sebastian set the towels aside on the tiny chair he had in the bathroom. He rubbed his palms on the tops of his thighs. 

“What happened with Houser was not your fault, Jacob,” Sebastian said.

“I should’ve… I should’ve done more,” Jacob protested. 

“He made his choice.” Sebastian felt his heart tug at the lie that came from his lips. Houser did not have a choice; Jacob had stolen it from him. He wanted to comfort Jacob but he had no idea if it would only make matters worse. He took a breath and said, “You would not have been able to convince him otherwise.” 

Your lies would certainly make your father proud, a voice said harshly. It sound so much like his Father's. A man truly fit for the family name. 

“I should’ve tried harder," Jacob continued to say. "The bastard might still be alive.”

“Alright, no more brooding. Sit still for me, please?” Sebastian said firmly. 

Jacob’s brow arched as he sat up in the tub, water sloshing around him at the movement. “What are you doing?” 

“Just sit still,” he said with a disgruntled huff. “You smell awful, and your hair needs to be washed.”

“I can wash it myself.” 

“I am offering. Now are you going to comply or am I going to be forced to tie you up?”

Jacob’s response was cheeky and immediate. “I might have some spare rope in my belongings…”

Sebastian’s cheeks flushed at the insinuation. A startling image of Jacob laid flat on his bed, pupils blown, skin flushed red, wrists bound with rope flashed across his mind. He could see Jacob’s lips pulled back into a smirk as his muscles strained against the tight bindings. It was a filthy image indeed. He swallowed hard, adjusting his position to answer for the tightening in his trousers. 

“You are drifting into dangerous territory, Jacob Frye,” Sebastian scolded, attempting to ignore Jacob’s leering gaze. 

“I like dangerous.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. This man , he sighed. This… impossible man. 

Silence passed between them. Jacob heaved a sigh and then closed his eyes, baring his head and neck to Sebastian. Smirking with satisfaction, he retrieved the bar of soap and lathered it up in his hands. He set the soap aside and gently carded his fingers through Jacob’s damp hair. He massaged the other man’s scalp, humming quietly to himself. He heard a moan escape past Jacob’s lips. A faint smile graced his own lips. He continued to massage Jacob’s scalp, making sure to rid the man’s hair of any dirt and grime.   

“Has anyone told you that your hands are like magic?” Jacob mumbled. 

“Not to my recollection. But you can stand to mention it more often,” Sebastian responded, still focused on scrubbing out the dirt and grime. His nails scratched at Jacob’s scalp, drawing out a particularly low groan. He snorted, shaking his head. His eyes flicked to see Jacob’s hand slip under the water. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the shell of Jacob’s ear. “To be honest, you may be the first. Now, dunk your head.”

“If you keep this up—” Jacob warned. 

Sebastian did not even give him the chance to finish. He pushed Jacob down under the water and the other man came back up sputtering and wiping the soap and water from his eyes and face. 

Jacob fixed him with a scowl, brushing his soaking hair from his face. He coughed a few times, sucking in a deep breath, spitting, “You fucking cheeky sod.”

“I told you to dunk your head,” Sebastian said matter-of-fact. He poked Jacob hard in the chest. “You failed to listen.” 

“You’re going to regret that.” 

Sebastian felt his cheeks grow hot at the low rumble of Jacob's voice. He cleared his throat. Today had already been a whirlwind and he should give Jacob the privacy he deserved. 

“Or you’ll do what, Mr. Frye?” he said, rising to his feet. “Pull me into the bath with you?”

Jacob’s hand shot out and curled around his wrist, stopping him. Sebastian halted in his tracks, peering over his shoulder. 

“I’m not opposed to the idea,” Jacob said, eyes darkening. “What will it take for you to join me?”

“Jacob—”

“Join me? Please?” 

Sebastian eyed Jacob a moment. There was a pleading tone in his voice. Stay with me, please. Be with me. I don’t want to be alone right now. I don’t think I should be alone. Just say you’ll stay. Please. I need you—  

He took a moment to nod, agreeing to Jacob’s request. He stepped closer to the tub, taking Jacob’s hand and pressed a kiss to the top of his knuckles. 

“You are very lucky that I am fond of you, Jacob Frye.” 

Sebastian gently pried his hand from Jacob’s grasp and stripped himself bare, one article of clothing at a time. He could hear Jacob’s breath hitch as he peeled off his shirt, tossing it unceremoniously to the side. He would pick it up later, but for now, Jacob needed him. After removing his trousers, socks, and underwear, he climbed into the tub that was clearly not large enough for the both of them, but somehow, they made it work. He settled in front of Jacob, his back pressing against the other man’s chest. 

A beat of silence passed between them. 

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked. He felt Jacob’s lips near his ear. He forced himself to suppress a shudder. 

“Before he died, Houser told me where Danbury’s keeping Constance,” he whispered. “She’s here. Alive, and in Paris.”

Sebastian stiffened, a chill shooting down his spine. The fact that Jacob managed to pry that kind of information out of Houser meant something else transpired in that office. And not just a man dying. A million thoughts began racing through his mind. A thousand questions demanding answers. Where was she? Was she safe? Was she alright? How long had she been here? How did they not know she was here? Had they been that blind? That oblivious?

But he could only ask one question: “Do you think he was telling the truth?” 

Jacob’s body pressed closer to his. He could feel the warm weight of Jacob’s thighs against his own. “Why would a dead man lie?”

“I suppose you have a point.” 

Jacob’s arms wrapped themselves around his middle, holding him close. His chin dropped down to the crook of his shoulder, just above where the knotted scar from Jacob’s bullet once struck him. Lips pressed against the scar, soft and chaste. Sebastian leaned into the touch, closing his eyes briefly. He still dealt with the pain from time to time, but at this point, it had since faded. He felt one of Jacob’s hands drift lower to rest on his stomach. His muscles contracted in response.

“How long do you want to stay here?” Jacob asked huskily.

“Are you asking me to come to bed with you?” he asked in return. 

Sebastian couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across his lips. He turned into Jacob’s arms, pressing their chests together. Jacob’s hands came to rest at his bare hips, fingerings digging into his hip bones. Water splashed around them as he leaned forward, his lips just inches away from Jacob’s. 

“I do recall you mentioned something about your bed…”

With a laugh and flash of teeth, Jacob’s lips captured him in a searing kiss, and that was the end of that conversation. 

After trading kisses and touches, they both climbed out of the bath, drying with the towels and changing into worn trousers and shirts before sneaking into Jacob’s room with wandering hands and lips seeking skin. They discarded their clothes, tossing them to the ground to be forgotten until the morning. 

And Sebastian allowed himself to be taken to Jacob’s bed that night. He did his best to keep his voice down, knowing full well that Juliette was not far. But Jacob’s talented fingers drew out the most sinful of noises from deep inside him. Sounds that even he had no memory of when he was with Ed. And when they finally came down from their shared release, he could still hear the mocking tone of his own conscience screaming at him that he was in bed with a murderer. That he was spreading his legs for a killer. 

But in that moment, with Jacob buried inside him, lips at his throat, whispering all the filthy things he intended to do, Sebastian welcomed it with open arms. 

The next morning, he woke to find Jacob missing. His vision blurred briefly before he stretched his arm out to grasp at the still warm empty space next to him. His lower back twinged as he shifted to search for his companion. Jacob had not been gone too long. He lifted his head, turning to find Jacob sitting in the window sill, shirtless, and hunched over with his bracer sitting in his lap. 

“Jacob?” 

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?” 

The other man did not respond. 

“Jacob, will you come back to bed at least?” Sebastian asked.

“We need to tell Juliette about Constance,” Jacob whispered. 

Sebastian sighed and climbed out of the bed. Despite his own fears, he knew that Jacob was right. He redressed himself and wandered over to the window. He knelt down in front of Jacob. 

“I’ll do it. You’ve done enough already, Jacob Frye.”

“She’s going to hate me,” Jacob supplied for him. 

Sebastian’s brows crinkled. “I’ll be right beside you. I promise.” 

Jacob’s cheeks stained pink. He looked away, shaking his head. He looked back and leaned down to press their lips together. And once they separated, Sebastian felt Jacob’s forehead knock against his. 

“What did I do to deserve someone like you, Sebastian Worth?”

“Well, you did try to kill me the first time we met—”

“Never gonna let me forget that, are you?” There was a sense of fondness in Jacob's laugh. The sound of it warmed his heart. 

Sebastian shook his head and kissed Jacob again on the lips. When he drew back, he whispered one word: “Never.”

Chapter Text

fourteen: Sebastian

After exchanging another flurry of kisses in the privacy of their room, Sebastian and Jacob went downstairs to the parlor, where they sat down and waited. The grandfather clock struck 9 a.m., and not long after, Juliette joined them. She looked just as Sebastian figured she would: dark shadows under her eyes, tear streaks on her cheeks, and disheveled hair that looked to have fingers running through it constantly. She eased herself into one of the chairs, avoiding eye contact with Jacob. Her hand kept floating to the locket around her neck, running a thumb over it. While all of this occurred, Jacob sat alone in the settee, keeping his eyes on the ground, and his face neutral. 

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night,” Juliette started in a hushed tone. “I was angry and hurt.”

“And you have every right to feel that way, Juliette,” Sebastian said. “Yesterday may not have gone according to plan, but I do have some news that I think might ease your mind.” He took a breath and met her eyes.  “Constance is alive. And she’s in Paris.”

Silence fell over the room. The grandfather clock ticked on. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The seconds went by. No one dared to speak or move. Sebastian watched as Juliette’s eyes widened. His friend, his best friend, looked surprised, horrified, and relieved. Her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head, the hand around her locket tightened. 

“Where is she?” she asked slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“There’s a flat in Paris. Near the Louvre,” he answered. “I suspect Danbury’s been keeping her there since she first disappeared.”

“Do you think that is why Danbury is in Paris? To take her back to London?”

“I don’t know what he intends to do. But we need to stop him before he arrives today. We need to get in, find her, and get her out.”

“And how do you intend on doing that, mon ami ?” Juliette spat, quick to anger. “Burst in with guns drawn? This is—this is madness, Sébastian. Danbury—”

“Reggie will keep watch by the airship docks. At the first sign of trouble, he’ll signal one of the crew and they will warn us. But we can only hope that we can get to her before he shows up.” 

“And if we don’t?” 

Sebastian sighed. He walked up to Juliette and knelt down in front of her. 

“We will. We’re going to get her back,” he said. “I did not come all this way for us to just walk away without her returning to your arms. I made you a promise, Juliette, and I intend to keep it.”

Juliette was silent a moment before nodding and carefully wrapping her arms around his neck. Sebastian held his friend close, glancing over her shoulder to find Jacob rising to his feet and ducking out of the parlor. He had managed to repair his threads with Juliette, but there was still that unsettling feeling that there was still much left to do to mend things with Jacob. 

That is if Jacob would let him. 

With their bellies full and Reggie aware of their plans, the carriage ride to the flat was silent, but filled to the brim with tension. Sebastian’s knee was bouncing and Jacob had to drop a hand onto it to keep him calm. Under his direction, the carriage stopped a few doors from the flat and the trio disembarked to walk the rest of the way. And as they approached, they were struck by how ordinary the flat appeared. It was just as Houser had described it to Jacob: a white door with lilacs in the front garden. Sebastian stared at the door with Juliette on one side and Jacob on the other. 

No amount of time could have prepared him for what he was about to face. He feared what he might find. Would Constance be in a similar position as Verity, locked away in some attic? Or would she be just another girl trapped as a servant? The images alone terrified him. He took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock at the door. 

Please let this be real. Let this be real. Let this be real. 

And moments later, a young man answered the door. He was thin, pale skin, with ash blonde hair. He was dressed like a normal butler. Well-tailored suit and freshly shined shoes. His brown eyes moved up and down, as if examining all three of them. His lips pursed, brows scrunching together. 

“Can I help you?” he asked. 

“Ah, yes. Hello, is Monsieur Danbury in?” Sebastian said. Don’t be here. Don't be here. Don’t be here. “My associates and I just arrived from London and we were scheduled to meet with him here.”

“ Non,” was the response. Sebastian felt his body relax. Danbury was not home. Good, they had time. The butler continued to speak, his hand still resting on the edge of the door. “ He is not due to arrive until this evening. Is he expecting you?” 

“Ah, no, but if he is not home, is Constance available?” 

The young man narrowed his eyes. He feigned a smile and leaned back, calling back into the home. “Mistress, there are two gentlemen here to see you. They said they are scheduled to meet with Monsieur Danbury.”

“Bring them to the parlor, Victor,” a feminine voice called out.  

Sebastian felt Juliette snatch his wrist and squeeze, confirming his own suspicions. She was here. She was alive. He did not have to have Juliette say a single word. Her reaction was enough for him. He nodded and the trio stepped inside. The flat was ordinary enough. White walls, floral accents, lavish rugs, polished wood. It was comfortable, homey, even. An unsettling feeling wormed its way into his stomach. 

“Mistress, is there anything else you require from me?” the butler, Victor, asked. 

“No, that will be all, Victor. Thank you.” 

Victor bowed at the threshold of what Sebastian assumed was the parlor. He left with a turn of his heel and disappeared through another set of doors at the end of the hallway. Sebastian turned to Juliette who appeared eager to see Constance, but he stopped her. 

“Stay here,” he whispered. “Trust me. I don’t want her to run on us.” He turned to Jacob. “Keep an eye on the butler. I don’t want him to follow us should we need to escape.”

“She is my sister,” Juliette hissed. “I need to see her!”

“And you will!” Sebastian reassured her. “But please, just trust me, Juliette.” 

Before Juliette could say anything else, Sebastian stepped towards the threshold of the parlor and walked into the room. A lump formed in his throat. He struggled to form the words as he took in the young woman, barely seventeen—almost the same age as Sybil. His heart sank. Houser had told the truth; Constance was alive. 

“Constance? Constance Devereux?” he asked, his voice wavering.

There was no denying that the young woman sitting in a velvet chair across from Sebastian was indeed Constance Devereux. He had studied her picture for months and now, here she was. Alive and well. Not a single scratch or mark on her. 

Standing this close, he could clearly see that she looked so much like Juliette. Same eyes. Same nose. But Constance’s hair was vastly different from Juliette’s. Hers was a much darker shade of auburn, almost brown in the morning rays. She arched her brow, suspicion clearly written on her face. 

“Who are you?” Constance asked. “How do you know my name?”

Sebastian could’ve felt his heart weep for joy. He felt his shoulders sag in relief. Fucking hells, Jacob was right. God he was going to kiss this man senseless once they got back to the flat. He was going to do whatever Jacob wanted until he could no longer walk in a straight line. But for now, he had to maintain focus on Constance. 

Who was alive. And standing just feet away. 

“I’m a friend of your sister’s,” he said, raising a hand to his chest. “Juliette?”

Constance’s eyes widened and she lowered the cross-stitch in her hand. She stared at him. She opened her mouth, struggling to find her words. “Is she—”

“She’s alright, she’s alive,” he breathed out, relieved. Thank God above. “And she’s never stopped looking for you. She’s the reason why we’ve come all this way. To find you.”

Constance's bottom lip trembled. Sebastian could already see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She was taking it all in. 

“Hugo never—he never got to her?” 

Something horrible twisted inside Sebastian's chest once he heard Danbury's name come out of Constance's mouth. So casually. She called him Hugo. Not sir. Not Lord Danbury. Hugo. She called him Hugo. God above what had he done to her… He quickly shook his head, forcing himself not to get sick. “No, no. She’s alright. She's safe. Would you—would you like to see her?”

There was confusion, shock, and sadness written on Constance’s face. She began to fiddle with her hands, absent-mindedly ringing them out and nervously plucking at the sleeves of her dress. Sebastian noticed the nervousness that wavered in her voice as she struggled to find the right words. 

“I—I don’t, I don’t know—I—”

“Constance?” Juliette. 

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder to find Juliette now standing at the threshold. Tears were in her eyes and she looked relieved. She slowly walked into the parlor, mouth agape. A hand drew to her mouth. Silence washed over the room like an ocean wave. 

Constance’s mouth fell open. “Juliette…” she whispered. “You—you really are here.”

“Of course I’m here. You’re my sister, Constance,” Juliette said. “I will always be here.” 

The two sisters stood silent, both unmoving. And then, a sob ripped from Constance’s chest. She rushed forward, stumbling into Juliette’s arms. The two held each other, whispering and crying in French to one another. It was a sight to see, and it made his heart swell to see the two sisters reunited at last. 

Tears forming at the corners of his eyes, Sebastian could not will himself to move. He could sense his body was on the verge of collapsing. They had actually done it. They found Constance. She was alive. And she had been right under their noses the entire time. No wonder Danbury had gone through such lengths to keep her hidden. He wanted her to himself. He would have his wife in London, and then he would come to Paris to Constance. And the only person who knew was dead. 

Fuck. This was just a mess.

“Sebastian?” Jacob. 

Sebastian felt something vile crawl up the back of his throat. And he decided that he would not fight it. He immediately rushed out of the flat, stumbled to a nearby bush and vomited. His mouth burned as he eventually managed to stumble back and wipe the traces of saliva from his lips. He went to step forward but a strong pair of arms caught him around the middle. 

“I’ve got you,” Jacob whispered in his ear. Familiar lips pressed against his temple, grounding him. Strong hands moved to rest at his hips, holding him steady. “I’ve got you, alright?”

Sebastian turned his face into Jacob’s chest, his shoulders still trembling. Run. Flee. Away. Getawayawayaway. Away from here. Awayfromthisrottenterribleplacepleasepleasepelase.justgetmeaway—

“What do you need, Seb?” Jacob whispered. “Just tell me what you need.”

For you to stop lying to me and tell me the goddamn truth about what happened with Houser. 

Sebastian swallowed hard, breathing through his nose and shakily whispering, “Take me back to the flat?”

“I’ll let Juliette know we’re going back. You gonna be alright out here?”

“I think so.” 

“Alright. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” 

Sebastian only nodded and Jacob’s arms around him disappeared. He watched Jacob return to the flat. He was only gone for a few minutes, and then he returned to lead him to the waiting carriage. The ride itself was a blur. Sebastian leaned his head against the glass of the carriage, watching the street lamps pass by. He could feel Jacob's tense gaze on him. Unwavering and never straying too far. The slightest movement would draw him back in. 

The carriage eventually pulled to a stop and Sebastian forced himself out of it. He felt Jacob’s hand come to rest at the small of his back, as if guiding him up the stairs to the front door and then inside his flat. 

“Seb—”

“I'm fine,” he said, ignoring Jacob's attempt to comfort him. “I'm just… I'm going to lie down for a bit. Make sure to send the carriage back to Juliette and Constance—”

“Consider it done, Seb.”

Sebastian fought a strangled noise from escaping. God above what did he do to deserve a man like Jacob Frye? With a deep and shaky breath, he took it upon himself to go up the stairs and forced himself to push his bedroom door open. He closed it behind him, peeling off his clothes one by one, before he was only dressed in his trousers. He curled up on his bed, his back to the door. He closed his eyes and felt his body shake. He heard the door squeak open. He did not even have to look to know who it was. He could already sense it was Jacob. 

A moment of silence passed between them.

"What do you need?” Jacob asked again.

Sebastian carefully rolled onto his side, facing Jacob.  

“I don't know,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “Answers, I suppose. But I doubt that will bring any ease to my mind.” 

“I don’t think I could give you answers. At least, not the ones you want. Mind scooting over a bit?”

Nodding, Sebastian did as Jacob asked. He scooted over just enough for Jacob to come up and lay down beside him. They laid there, facing one another. Jacob reached out and brushed away a stray strand of his hair. 

“Hey, I know you feel like you didn’t do anything but you’ve put a hitch in Danbury’s operation. You found Constance. You saved Verity…” 

“But Houser is still dead,” he interrupted. “Our only piece of evidence to corroborate Danbury’s crimes is—"

“Right where he should be,” Jacob reminded him. “He can’t hurt any more girls.”

“And what of Constance?” Sebastian pressed, heart racing. “Danbury will know she’s missing and search for her. He kept her in this flat for himself, Jacob. She was like some war prize and with her gone—” 

“Danbury’s not stupid. With Houser dead and her missing, he’ll put two and two together, and realize that someone is on to him. He’ll go back to London, and that is where you come in with that mountain of paperwork you and Juliette dug up. Danbury won’t be able to deny that.” 

Sebastian sighed, exasperated. “Jacob, if my father—”

“Listen to me, Sebastian Worth. We’re not destined to become our fathers,” Jacob interrupted, cupping his cheek. His thumb stroked his cheek, just under his eye where the beauty mark was. “We’re meant to be different. Something… better.”

“I truly want to believe you Jacob. But—”

“But nothing. You’ve always been the one to talk, and now I’m going to tell you something about myself that you have to swear you will never repeat to anyone.”

“Should I be nervous?” Sebastian asked, arching a brow.

“No, but it’s about my father,” Jacob said. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of Sebastian’s head. “He wasn’t… he wasn't a bad man. But he was hardly what you would call a saint either. He was strict and cold, prioritizing our studies above anything else. My sister did well under his direction, and I, however, wasn’t the best student.”

“You? A troublemaker?” Sebastian feigned a shocked gasp. “I find that hard to believe."

“I was a terror, and all of Crawley knew it.”

“And what happened to him? Your father?” 

“He died before Evie and I came to London. Our mother’s death always weighed on him, so we just assumed it was from a broken heart.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said. His own heart faltered. How tragic. He thought he too would die of a broken heart after Ed's death, and then that all changed. “I'm sorry. Were you two close?"

“Not really,” Jacob confessed. “We often clashed, but Evie took to his teachings better than myself. He wasn’t the same after our mother died." There was a pause. Jacob's eyes drifted down. He took a breath, steadily exhaling. “He… he changed. He threw himself into his work and Evie and I, well, we were expected to follow in his footsteps.” 

“And you did?” 

“I did.” 

“An Assassin?”

Jacob did not respond; but he didn’t have to. Sebastian knew. He’d always known. He curled in close to Jacob, resting his head under the other man’s chin. He closed his eyes. Despite the nagging feeling in his stomach about Houser and his unpredicted demise, he could not find himself condemning Jacob’s actions. In fact, if he was in the same position, he might have done the same thing. It was not how he was raised, but Houser—

Houser was a monster with a human face. 

Sebastian’s fingers instinctively tightened their grasp of Jacob’s shirt. He pressed his body closer. “I don’t care, Jacob. I just—I just want you on my side.” 

“And you have me.”

Sebastian sighed, his voice muffled by Jacob’s shirt in his face. He shuffled closer to where he could slot one leg between Jacob’s and pressed his body flush with his lover’s. “Now what?” 

“We’ll figure it out in the morning, alright. You,” Jacob said, kissing him on the head again. “need to sleep, alright?” 

“Stay?” he asked quietly. 

Jacob’s chuckle answered in response, sending pleasant vibrations through his body. “Always.”

Sebastian closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. He pressed his body closer to Jacob’s, burying his face into the other man’s shirt. Something inside him twisted, a horrible, gut-wrenching feeling. He pushed it as far as he could, but it was still there. Lingering and festing like an old wound. Jacob had lied to him about Houser, about Danbury…

Jacob had said, “Always”, but could that be a lie too?