[Is this what it feels like to be on the other end of a hidden blade? He doesn’t like it. Jacob holds his hands up, to show that he means no harm. Doesn’t try to get free either, he knows very intimately how sharp that blade must be.]

Jacob Frye. I’m not a bloody Templar, man, I’m from the British Brotherhood, stationed in London [well, one of the three Assassins stationed in London, anyway]—I’d show you my blade to prove it, but I seem to have misplaced it in coming here.

[A loss he’ll rectify soon enough.]

Now what’s your name?