The dock was packed with herds of people, all weaving in and out of each other, each one with their own focused intensity. Families with squealing infants and chattering teenagers emerged from a luxury liner in streams, accompanied by the occasional stern-faced business-person, armed with a briefcase. A cacophony of hoots and yells overwhelmed all the other noise, an organised chaos as crews unloaded crates of fresh fruit and fish for the local markets. Tangy yellow lemons and blood oranges spilled from a wicker basket, handfuls of rich purple freesias and startling pink roses danced wildly in the sea breeze. A pair of stray dogs chased each other in between legs and crates, barking playfully in their mad game of tag. A warm current of air flowed through the morning sky and I inhaled the luxurious, salty scent of the sea. The breeze stirred up various aromas, I detected cinnamon, grapefruit and a particularly penetrating cheap perfume, along with a few more unappealing fragrances. This whole place was an tracker's worst nightmare, there were so many people and so many things going on at the same time. It made detection near impossible, and then it depended on the skill of the individual. Calais is one of France's major port cities, and the docks are permanently overflowing with people, an easy hiding place for anyone, trained or not.

I was standing at the railing of the raised plaza that led on to the rest of the city. Stone steps worn by weather and footprints led up from the dock to the plaza, enclosed by a banister made of the same white stone. My position overlooked the whole of the dock, so that one person appeared no larger than my little finger. Since today required stealth, I was dressed in regular clothes to blend in with the public, my black ensemble folded away in the backpack on my shoulders. Numerous weapons were still concealed around my body, but otherwise I appeared to be a young tourist, travelling alone. Shutting out the sensory overload I started to focus inwardly.

Altaïr hadn't given me many clues before I left, and Ezio wasn't very helpful either. It was to be expected though; this was just another trial I had to overcome.

"He is waiting at Calais, but don't look too hard or he will not follow the trail of ashes".

Altaïr's words were cryptic, but it wasn't too hard to figure out if I knew anything about that boy's personality. Of course he didn't want to be found that easily, so he deliberately chose a crowded place to melt into. It had to be this dock because it had the largest variety of vessels coming in and out of the port, along with a high number of international ships from all over the world. People from all creeds and colours gathered here, and with such a distinctive appearance, he needed someplace where it wasn't just the locals who frequented it. He'd led me to this dock, and now it was just a matter of time before one of us caught sight of the other. Even after so long, his competitive nature turned everything he did into a contest. Nevertheless, I didn't think that I could have met him without a challenge.

Scanning the throngs of bodies, I searched for a sign, some sort of behaviour that struck a contrast against the rest of the crowd. Gradually, I came to notice an anomaly within the mass of bodies, someone that was moving much slower than the hectic rush around them. I dismissed it at first, then grew curious as the person didn't seem to be leaving the dock. I noticed how their path was almost lazy and erratic, weaving in and out amongst the people scurrying around with firm intentions in their movements, whilst this person seemed to have no real destination. I decided to observe for a few more minutes, and from the height and body language it was likely to be a man. His tall stature matched the person I was looking for, but it was too early to make any assumptions.

Suddenly I caught a flash of blue around the man's neck, and this encouraged me to go down and investigate in person. As I descended the stone staircase, I ran through the possibilities in my mind. The bright blue neckerchief was a distinct clue, but I hadn't expected him to show any obvious markers. It definitely made finding him much quicker, but I knew that he would not have put it on just as an attractive accessory. Yet... I also knew that he liked to show off, it was how I had met him in the first place. I realised that he did not choose such a crowded area to make it difficult for me to find him, he wanted to make it difficult for me to catch him. I reached the final steps and stood by a stack of crates as I remembered Altaïr's second clue.

"Don't look too hard or he will not follow the trail of ashes". Trail of ashes. Ashen. Me.

I allowed myself a small smile and ventured into the frenzied crowds, blending with the chaos. Let the games begin, Cobalt.

I kept my eyes on the blue neckerchief as it bobbed and waved through the sea of people, and at times it disappeared, only to emerge from a mass of bodies. Up close I examined the man's back; broad and lean, the shadow of muscles playing on a loose white shirt that rippled in the breeze. He wore plain dark jeans slung low on slim hips, the ends tucked into a pair of calf-length leather cowboy boots. And if I inspected closely, I could make out the distinctive outline of a small black pouch on his waist, looking suspiciously similar to the pack of hunting knives hidden in my backpack. I had been following him for nearly ten minutes now, and the crowds thinned around us as he walked out onto the end of one of the ports. I stayed back in the shadows of another stone staircase, and let people fill the space between us. I still kept my eyes on the neckerchief, vivid against the pale turquoises and cyans of the sea. He stood alone, looking out through huge sunglasses at the horizon as if waiting for something to materialise in the distance. His chesnut brown hair fluttered around his ears and tickled his neck, slightly wavy from the humid air. His shoulders rose and fell slowly, as if he sighed before turning around.

He froze suddenly, and he seemed to stare directly at my hiding place. Although his eyes were obscured and his expression didn't change, I knew he had found me from the way his entire body stilled and his hand clenched slightly at his side. His full lips shifted and widened as he mouthed something. Ashen.

We stared at each other for a moment, waiting for the other to move. I allowed myself a moment of indulgence and sighed internally as the crushing knot of tension in my chest loosened, letting me breathe easier. Relief washed through me to see him there, alive.

But, I wasn't finished yet. He had set up this game to test my skills, for no one apart from the highly skilled could have found him so easily. Now it was my turn to put on a trial for him. Besides, I also needed confirmation that it was really him, and not an imposter.

Turning on my heel, I disappeared further into the cool shadows of the staircase, going around the corner to rows and rows of small wooden quays, where the local fishermen would dock their boats. By now it was nearing noon, so the all the workers would be out at sea and tourists would be in the city centre, leaving the small stretch of quays deserted. The quays were about one or two metres wide, with three posts in between each one. Pausing on the stone pathway before a series of wooden posts lodged into the water, I listened to the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching. Confident that he had taken the bait and was following, I leapt onto the first post. I let my momentum power my jump onto the next post, and the one after that. I landed on the following quay, bending at the knees a little to absorb the impact and pushed off my heels again to take another running leap onto the submerged post. Each stump was just slightly longer than the length of my Vans trainers, meaning that I had to keep moving if I didn't want to lose my balance and fall into the water. I concentrated on maintaining a steady rhythm with my feet, rolling forward from the balls of my heels to the frontal arch before my toes in each jump. Leap, leap, leap, sprint, leap. Occasionally I cast my senses backwards to ensure that I was still being followed, and it almost made me smile to hear the hesitant, irregular thumps as he landed on each post. He would have been able to catch me up if he had chosen to run along the dock instead of across the quays, but I suspected that he wanted to compete with me on this as well. His larger weight and taller frame put him at a definite disadvantage though, as he was forced to be more careful about balancing on the posts, delaying him. I suppose longer legs gave him a slight boost, but the other factors put the odds in my favour with a smaller body and lighter step, enabling me to move more swiftly.

Even with the challenge of balance, speed and monitoring the progress behind me, I thrilled in the wind and water that whipped my hair and sprayed my legs. I enjoyed the race, a simple competition to determine the one superior in speed and stamina, with no bloodthirsty killer or maddened gunfire at my heels that threatened my life. Racing with him like this again brought back memories, days were we would scale trees and leap from branch to branch, just to see who could reach the top first. I remembered after a morning of archery, we competed to see who could climb to the top of the largest apple tree first, and the loser would have to watch as the winner took a bite from the juiciest apples amongst the highest branches. Afterwards as I watched the annoyed expression on his face grow darker and darker, I had broken the apple in two and offered one half to him. It had taken a while, but he'd eventually accepted it and we stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon, relaxing in the tree's warm embrace before we were called down for knife sparring.

We continued to race, long after we had surpassed all the quays and left the port, running freely through the whole city. At one point we ran side by side in a boulevard lined with birch trees, with ony the wind separating our pumping arms. The shop windows winking playfully in the ageing sunlight, until once again I tore away from him into one of Calais' infinite alleyways. It was hours later when I came to the French Opal Coast, the sun a musky orange orb sinking lazily in the distance. I stopped by an old wooden bench, its arms and legs washed and chipped grey by the outdoor elements. An evening breeze stirred my hair and cooled my neck and and face, slicked with sweat from exertion. My chest rose and fell in short, rapid bursts and my pulse was still jumping wildly. I heard similar panting a few feet behind me and felt a burning gaze on my back, but I waited until my heartbeat slowed down before turning to face him.

Neither of us made any move to speak first as we stared, silently, both of us stubborn to the last moment. I decided to play with him a little more and see if he would break the silence first.

Slowly, deliberately, I took off my backpack and ped it. His eyes followed my every movement as I took long, taunting gulps from the bottle of water, and I stared him back down as I drank. When it was nearly depleted, I raised my arm, as if to pour the rest of the water over my head. However, I was interrupted by an outstretched hand and I paused, glancing mockingly at his defiant expression. I smoothed my face into something blank as I brought out a second bottle from my bag, and pointed it towards him, an invitation. He stalked closer and grabbed the water, nearly ripping the cap off before throwing down half the contents. When he came up for air, I struggled not smirk at his expression of total relish before he drained the rest of the bottle.

Wiping his lips, the irritation faded from his eyes and was replaced with a cocky cheerfulness, as if he was already thinking of a way to regain a victory from me. I did nothing in return, refusing to be baited into another marathon or drag race. He just stood there, one eyebrow raised as he threw the empty bottle back into my backpack on the ground. He laced his hands behind his head and grinned, a flash of vivid white pearls. I fought to roll my eyes, and decided to indulge him for once.

"It's been a while, Cobalt."

His Cheshire-cat smile widened even further and he dropped his hands into his pockets and thumbed the hidden pack of hunting knives on his waist. Walking over to where I stood by the bench, he collapsed onto it and replied,
"Aw, come on, Jiyeon. Just drop the codenames, we haven't seen each other for so long. And don't say that we're not totally alone here."

This time I let out a light sigh as I sat down beside him, leaning back into the ancient wood. Today I would let him do what he wanted, and it was true that I had missed his presence. I sat back and basked in the sun's last few rays, preparing for a long discussion.

"Yes, whatever you say, Minho."