For a moment—an unbearably vivid moment, where his skin feels too tight, the very air abrasive—William doesn't react. Then something in him goes slack: his head bows, he buries his face in his hands. He laughs like it's being squeezed out of him. “It made me sick.”

He scrubs his hands over his face, through his hair. He's clear-eyed when he looks up, but his breath trembles through him. “All that—all that bullshit. And it was just another guy who didn't want his boss to be mad at him. Jesus fucking christ.”

A cracked laugh, another breath. His eyes stay locked on Ezio. “Tell me about Takeshi.”